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FROM   THE   LIBRARY   OF 
REV.    LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,   D.  D, 

BEQUEATHED    BY   HIM   TO 

THE   LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON   THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


http://archive.org/details/thOOdema 


MY    AIN     COUNT 


A^D 


&i  OF  PRi; 


■    6   1933 

3te        »fl£ 


OTHER    VERSES. 


By   MARY    LEE    DEMAREST, 


NEW    YORK: 
ANSON    D.     F.    RANDOLPH    &    COMPANY, 

gOO   BROADWAY,    COR.    20th   STREET. 


X 


"fr 


COPYRIGHT,    1832,    BY 
ANSON    D.    F.    RANDOLPH    &    COMPANY. 


EDWARD    O.   JENKINS, 

Printer  and  Siereotyper% 

20  North  William  St. 


&£ 


*i 


AUTHOR'S    NOTE 


Some  of  the  verses  here  gathered  together,  have  from  time 
to  time  been  published  in  various  magazines  and  newspapers. 

By  the  courtesy  of  Messrs.  Harper  &  Brothers,  and  also  the 
editors  of  the  Illustrated  Christian  Weekly,  of  the  Youth's  Com- 
panion, and  of  other  periodicals,  articles  which  have  appeared 
in  their  columns  are  here  reprinted. 

The  Scotch  verses,  "My  Ain  Countree,"  were  written  in  1861, 
and  were  first  published  in  the  New  York  Observer,  over  my 
signature.  "  L.,"  in  nearly  their  present  form. 


. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

My  Ain  Countree i 

A  Good  and  a  Glad  New  Year 3 

Gone            4 

Willie's  Prayer 7 

Faith  and  Patience 10 

When  Shadows  Deepen 13 

Veteran  Tom  and  the  Surgeon 14 

Even  in  Sardis 21 

The  Sabbath  Sunset  Hour  of  Prayer 23 

A  Prisoner  of  Hope 27 

"  Asleep  on  a  Pillow  " 29 

«'  Behold  My  Hands  and  My  Feet,  that  it  is  I  Myself  "  .        .  31 

Jesus,  Master •  33 

The  Gardener 34 

Here  and  After  Here 36 

The  Best  Robe 37 

Song  of  Mercy 3S 

Comforted 40 

A  Recruiting  Song 43 

Easter  Joy 46 

My  Plea 

Into  the  Holiest 

The  Iron  Gate 51 

"Open  Thou  My  Lips" 54 

"  Rex  eris,  si  Recte  Facias  " 56 

v 


47, 

49 


^4— 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

"Until  the  Day  Brfak" 57 

One  Whom  Thou  Lovest,  Lord 60 

Good-Bye 62 

The  Burnt  Path 62 

Thankfulness 65 

Our  Saviour's  Love 68 

The  Blossom-Storm 70 

Lights  Ashore 73 

Christ  and  My  Heart 75 

Flowers  for  the  Baby's  Feet 78 

"The  Lord  our  Helper" 79 

"  Post  Tenebras  Lux  " 80 

"Surely  I  Come  Quickly" 83 

"  Discouraged  Because  of  the  Way" 85 

Up  to  the  Hills 87 

My  Mither 89 

My  Guest 91 

The  Patience  of  the  Lord 93 

Baby  Annie 95 

Missing 98 

My  Heart's  Ae  Dearie 103 

Sea  Spray 105 

Over  the  Border 108 

"  Massachusetts  " no 

The  Pathway  o'  the  Sea 112 

A  Woman's  Words 115 

Mfusendra tiS 

A  Voice  from  Belle  Isle — 1863 121 

In  a  Dream 124 

In  Memoriam— F.  B.  C 128 

A  Memory 130 

.How  Benny  Got  His  Drum 133 

Allen  Graeme 138 

Our  Old  Piano 142 

"The  Wa-gang  o'  Her  the  Heart  Gangs  wi'"     ....  144 

vi 


±±1 


fe- 


MY   AIN   COUNTREE, 

AND 

OTHER  VERSES. 


MY    AIN    COUNTREE. 

"But  no%o  they  desire  a  better  country,  that  is,  an  heavenly.'1'' — Heb.  xi.   16. 

I'm  far  frae  my  hame,  an'  I'm  weary  after-whiles, 

For  the  langed-for  hame-bringing  an'  my  Father's  welcome 

smiles  ; 
I'll  ne'er  be  fu'  content,  until  mine  een  do  see 
The  shining  gates  o'  heaven  an'  my  ain  countree. 
The  earth  is  flecked  wi'  flowers,  mony-tinted,  fresh  an'  gay, 
The  birdies  warble  blithely,  for  my  Father  made  them  sae  ; 
But  these  sights  an'  these  soun's  will  as  naething  be  to  me, 
When  I  hear  the  angels  singing  in  my  ain  countree. 

I've  His  gude  word  o'  promise  that,  some  gladsome  day,  the 

King 

To  His  ain  royal  palace  His  banished  hame  will  bring. 

Wi'  een  an'  wi'  hearts  runnin'  owre,  we  shall  see 

The  King  in  His  beauty  in  our  ain  countree. 

i 


MY  A  IN  CO  U N'T  REE. 

My  sins  hae  been  mony,  an'  my  sorrows  hae  been  sair, 
But  there  they'll  never  vex  me,  nor  be  remembered  mair  ; 
His  bluid  has  made  me  white,  His  hand  shall  dry  mine  e'e, 
When  He  brings  me  hame  at  last,  to  my  ain  countree. 

Like  a  bairn  to  its  mither,  a  wee  birdie  to  its  nest, 

I  wad  fain  be  ganging  noo,  unto  my  Saviour's  breast  ; 

For  He  gathers  in  His  bosom  witless,  worthless  lambs  like  me, 

And  carries  them  Himsel'  to  His  ain  countree. 

Nae  mickle  noo  I  ken  o'  the  joy  sae  fu'  an'  gran', 

An'  the  pleasures  evermair  that  abide  at  His  richt  han' ; 

It  will  surely  be  eneuch  forevermair  to  be, 

I'  the  Hame  He  has  prepared,  i'  my  ain  countree. 

He's  faithfu'  that  hath  promised,  He'll  surely  come  again, 
He'll  keep  His  tryst  wi'  me,  at  what  hour  I  dinna  ken  ; 
But  He  bids  me  still  to  wait,  an'  ready  aye  to  be, 
To  gang  at  ony  moment  to  my  ain  countree. 
So  I'm  watching   aye,  an'  singing  o'  my  hame  as  I  wait 
For  the  soun'ing  o'  His  footfa'  this  side  the  shining  gate. 
God  gi'e  His  grace  to  ilk  ane  wha  listens  noo  to  me, 
That  we  a'  may  gang  in  gladness  to  our  ain  countree. 


A   GOOD  AND  A  GLAD  NE  W  YEAR. 

A    GOOD    AND    A    GLAD    NEW    YEAR. 

Faintly  the  Old  Year's  pulses  beat, 

While  the  moon  shone  full  and  bright 
On  the  silent  waste  of  the  Southern  Sea, 

And  the  ship's  long  wake  of  white. 
Away  from  the  North,  and  away  from  the  Past, 

With  a  backward  glance  I  sailed, 
Remembering  all  I  had  longed  to  be, 

And  how  I  had  sadly  failed. 

I  thought  of  the  life  unhelpful,  poor, 

That  might  have  been  brave  and  fair, 
Of  the  deeds  undone  and  the  words  unsaid, 

Of  the  failure  everywhere. 
Ah,  never  the  lost  chance  comes  again 

For  the  deed  to  be  nobly  done, 
For  the  finished  fight  once  more  to  be  fought, 

For  the  race  again  to  be  run. 

Good-bye  to  all  that  I  might  have  been 
In  the  year  that  is  dying  fast ! 


^A 


t 


.a 


GONE. 

The  Future  yet  may  nobler  be 

For  the  failures  of  the  Past : 
While  the  Lord  above  has  grace  and  strength 

To  dispel  every  want  and  fear, 
And  hope  springs  up,  with  a  glad  new  life, 

For  a  good  and  a  glad  New  Year. 


GONE. 

We  knelt  by  the  dying  bed 
Of  one  who  was  soon  to  go 

Beyond  the  touch  of  our  earthly  life, 
With  its  changing  joy  and  woe  ; 

Beyond  the  clasp  of  our  human  love, 
To  the  world  we  do  not  know. 


The  silvery  tick  of  the  clock 
Seemed  far  away  and  strange, 

For  one  little  moment  brought  to  us 
A  sense  of  loss  and  change,— 


GONE. 

Of  something  forever  gone,  beyond 
Our  human  reach  and  range. 

Oh,  the  awful  mystery 

Of  the  change  that  we  call  Death, 
When  the  finger  of  God  is  laid  on  the  lips, 

And  hushes  the  struggling  breath. 
Dear  Lord,  how  dark  it  must  be  for  those 

Without  Jesus  of  Nazareth  ! 

He  knows  it,  knows  it  all, 

For  He  hung  upon  the  tree, 
Those  long,  long  hours  of  death-in-life, 

In  His  mortal  agony. 
His  heart  can  pity  our  hearts  that  shrink 

From  the  strange  Eternity. 

He  passed  from  the  scoffs  and  the  jeers 
To  His  Father's  throne  on  high, 

And  opened  the  gates  of  Paradise, 
When  He  uttered  His  long,  last  cry. 

Dear,  pitiful  Lord,  who  died  for  us, 

Be  close  to  us  when  we  die. 

5 


GONE. 

Our  hearts  are  hushed  with  the  thought 

Of  the  glory  to  be  revealed, 
When  the  lips  of  the  dumb  shall  sing  for  joy, 

And  the  eyes  of  the  blind  be  unsealed  ; 
When  we  know  the  Lord  as  our  glorious  Sun, 

As  well  as  our  mighty  Shield  ! 

Oh,  Love  that  is  perfect  now, 

Oh,  Life  that  is  sweet  and  grand  ! 
Upon  the  threshold  if  one  might  turn, 

And  clasp  our  trembling  hand, 
Could  she  tell  us  of  Heavenly  things  in  words 

That  our  hearts  could  understand  ? 

Ah,  no  !   from  the  sweet,  still  lips, 

No  answer  comes  back  to  my  own. 
She  has  gone — she  has  gone  to  our  Father's  House, 

Where  she  knows  as  she  is  known. 
Her  heart  in  heaven  and  ours  on  earth, 

May  meet  at  the  Great  White  Throne. 


WILLIE'S  PR  A  YER. 

WILLIE'S     PRAYER. 

In  the  pleasant  nursery,  bright 
With  the  wood-fire's  dancing  light, 
Full  of  fun,  with  many  a  shout 
White-robed  children  run  about. 

Now,  the  bed-time  frolic  past, 
Mother's  voice  calls  them  at  last : 
"  Come,  my  darlings,  come  and  pray 
For  God's  blessing,  night  and  day." 

Then  they  kneel,  with  fair  heads  bowed, 

And  together  pray  aloud  : 
11  Our  Father,"  and  again, 
u  Now  I  lay  me."     Silence  then, 

Like  a  halo,  seems  to  fall 

On  the  bended  heads  of  all. 

For  Mamma  said  God  would  hear 

What  they  whispered  in  His  ear. 

So  their  childish  wishes  sweet 

Silently  their  hearts  repeat. 
7 


&4 


r 


WILLIE'S  PR  A  YER. 

Now  are  raised  two  curly  heads  : — 
:  Come  and  kiss  us  in  our  beds  " — 
Tuck  us  up,  please,  Mother  dear," 
Pleads  one  darling  in  her  ear  ; 
For  her  good-night  kiss,  caressing, 
Is  to  them  like  Heaven's  blessing. 

Only  Willie  lingers  where 

They  all  knelt  by  Mother's  chair  ; 

Puzzled,  troubled  with  the  doubt 

Whether  he  should  ask  right  out 

For  one  thing  he  wanted  so. 

Mother  said  that  God  would  know 

What  was  bad,  and  that  He  would 

Only  give  us  what  was  good. 

So — "  Please,  God,  to  give  to  me 

All  the  good  things  that  would  be 

Good  things  that  are  good  for  me." 

Oh,  the  trust  and  wisdom  rare 
Of  the  boy's  true-hearted  prayer  ! 
I,  with  all  my  added  years, 
Sad  to-night  with  many  fears, 


WILLIE'S  PR  A  YER. 

Would  be  happier  if  I  should 
Change  my  prayer  for  doubtful  good, 
Leaving  to  my  Father's  ken 
What  to  give,  and  how  and  when  ; 
Glad  to  have  Him  always  know 
What  things  I  have  wanted  so, 
And  to  let  His  love  decide 
What  good  things  must  be  denied 
To  me  now.     For  peace  and  strife, 
Loss,  possession,  death,  and  life, 
Present  things,  and  things  to  come, — 
Safely  kept  for  me  at  home, — 
All  are  mine,  and  God  will  make 
"  Good  for  me  "  for  Jesus'  sake. 

So  to-night  my  heart  has  caught 
Blessing  from  the  child's  sweet  thought, 
And  to  rest,  untroubled,  deep, 
Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep. 


FAITH  AND  PA  TIENCE. 


FAITH    AND    PATIENCE. 


Ye  have  need  of  patience,  that,  after  ye  have  done  the  will  of  God,  ye  might 
receive  the  promise.'''' — Heb.  x.  36. 

Lord,  give  to  me  that  fearless  trust 

Which  clasps  Thy  promise  sweet  and  sure, 
And  sees  by  faith  the  germ  mature, 

Though  now  it  lieth  low  iu  dust. 

Deep  down  beneath  the  lighter  soil 
I  hide  the  seed  wTith  many  a  prayer, 
Knowing  Thy  Spirit  must  be  there, 

Or  else  in  vain  is  all  my  toil. 

Tho'  buried  seed  and  harvest  sheaf 
Are  past  and  future  unto  me, 
They  both  are  present,  Lord,  to  Thee  :— 

Lord  Jesus,  help  mine  unbelief  ! 

A  thousand  of  our  toilsome  years 

To  Thee  are  but  one  day  of  light ; 

And,  floating  in  Thy  Sun,  how  bright 

Our  little  mote  of  life  appears  ! 
10 


FAITH  AXD  PA  TIENCE. 

This  life  so  brief,  and  yet  so  grand, 
So  full  of  mystery,  read  aright, 
So  fraught  with  meaning,  full  of  might — 

I  still  am  slow  to  understand. 

Lord  !  open  Thou  my  blinded  eyes 
To  see  the  angels  camping  round  ; 
The  seed  that  burst  from  garden-ground 

Has  made  earth  more  than  Paradise. 

"  The  grain  of  wheat  must  fall  and  die," 
To  bear  the  Eternal  Harvest  sheaf; 
Oh  !  vivify  my  slow  belief, 
Thou  who  didst  three  days  buried  lie. 

Help  me  to  take  Thee  at  Thy  word  ; 
Forever  true  I  know  Thou  art : 
When  I  have  done  in  faith  my  part, 

Thine  will  not  be  too  long  deferred. 

And  yet  Thou  knowest  I  am  prone, 

Saviour,  to  doubt  if  love  of  Thine 
ii 


% 


<^ 


FAITH  AND  PA  TIE  NCR. 

Would  reach  to  depths  where  love  of  mine 
Would  gladly  go,  though  all  alone. 

Oh,  shameful  doubt  of  Love  most  grand, 
And  deep  and  high  beyond  our  thought ! 
Let  me  no  longer  count  as  naught 

The  Love  I  can  not  understand. 

Thou  knowest,  Saviour,  how  to  show 
Lost  souls  Thy  purposes  of  love  : 
Thy  ways  and  thoughts  are  far  above 

Our  puny  thoughts  that  creep  below. 

Thou  watchest,  out  of  human  sight, 

The  precious,  quickened  seed  take  root ; 
We  only  see  the  springing  shoot, 

And  dream  it  sprung  up  in  a  night. 

And  all  is  Thine  : — the  seed  we  sow, 
The  hand  that  sows  it,  and  the  faith 
That  clings  to  what  Thy  mercy  saith, 

And  trusts  where  now  it  may  not  know. 


WHEN  SHADOWS  DEEPEN. 

So  here  I  cast  upon  Thy  heart 
The  souls  I  long  to  see  Thee  save  : 
Thy  mercy,  Lord,  for  them  I  crave, 

Saviour  of  sinners,  Thou  who  art  ! 


WHEN    SHADOWS    DEEPEN. 

When  shadows  deepen  and  the  path  grows  dark, 
And  skies  are  sombre  at  the  close  of  day, 

Nor  lingers  now  the  faintest  evening  red, 
"  The  sun  has  set,"  we  say. 

As  if  the  sun  had  ever  ceased  to  shine, 

As  though  our  pathway  ever  had  grown  dim, 

Until — ah,  not,  he  turned  away  from  us — 
Until — we  turned  from  him. 

At  night,  when  mists  and  vapors  of  the  earth 

Hang  dense  and  heavy  as  a  prison's  bars, 

Between  us  and  their  far-off  myriad  eyes, 

We  say,  "  There  are  no  stars  !  " 
13 


VETERAN  TOM  AND  THE  SURGEON. 

And  yet,  high  hosts  of  God,  their  shining  watch, 
Like  Israel's  faithful  Shepherd,  still  they  keep, 

Through  blaze  of  noon,  or  blackness  of  the  night, 
While  we  awake  or  sleep. 

Our  words  are  echoes  of  our  little  thoughts. 

God's  thoughts  are  not  as  ours.     Far,  far  above, 
Beyond  us,  holding  fast  the  Universe, 

Beats  His  great  Heart  of  Love. 

Ah,  love  beyond  our  measure  as  the  sea, 

And  higher  than  the  stars,  more  vast  than  space  ; 

What  meaneth,  "  God  so  loved,"  we  learn  alone, 
In  Christ  our  Saviour's  face. 


VETERAN  TOM  AND  THE  SURGEON. 

A  first-rate  surgeon,  sir,  you  are, 

To  bathe  and  set  and  bind 

Our  broken  bones,  but  you  can't  set 

At  rest  a  troubled  mind. 
14 


VETERAN  TOM  AND   THE  SURGEON. 

I've  heard  you  talking,  many  a  time  ; 

You  are  so  young  and  free 
You'll  not  be  vexed,  sir,  with  the  words 

Of  an  old  man  like  me  ? 
Now,  what's  the  use  of  blaming  God, 

And  pulling  things  apart  ? 
Does  all  this  fretting  save  from  sin 

Or  heal  a  broken  heart  ? 
Men  can't  find  out  by  guessing,  sir, 

Just  how  they  got  their  breath, 
Nor  where  the  atom  came  from  first, 

Nor  what  comes  after  death. 
And  when  some  dreadful  grief  or  loss 

Comes  marching  on  with  doubt, 
They  find  from  everything  in  life 

The  bottom  drops  right  out. 
I've  heard  how  one — a  great  man,  sir, 

In  England — who  denied 
The  God  that  made  him,  broke  his  heart 

When  his  own  idol  died. 
I  was  so  sorry  for  that  man  ! 

If  he  had  only  known 
*5 


VETERAN  TOM  AND   THE  SURGEON. 

God  loves  us  far  too  well  to  give 

Our  hungry  hearts  a  stone  ! 
A  pity  'tis,  sir,  as  you  say, 

Some  folks  whom  God  has  fed 
Don't  seem  to  know  the  difference 

Between  a  stone  and  bread. 
You  see,  we  are  so  obstinate, 

So  foolish,  sir,  and  blind, 
Outside  our  prison-doors  we  say, 

"  The  cell's  more  to  our  mind." 
And  many  a  time  we  grow  so  proud 

That  we  are  sure  to  fall  ; 
But  mind  you,  sir,  the  fault  is  ours, 

And  not  the  Lord's  at  all. 
And  as  for  doubts  and  questionings 

That  vex  so  many  still, 
He  says  His  doctrine  shall  be  known 

To  them  who  do  His  will. 


You  want  to  hear  my  story,  sir? 

It's  kind  of  you,  I'm  sure  ; 
16 


VETERA X  TOM  AXD   THE  SURGEON. 

I'm  only  Tom  the  veteran, 

A  cripple,  old  and  poor. 
I  went  into  the  army,  sir, 

When  I  was  but  a  lad  ; 
For  nigh  on  thirty  years,  it  was 

The  only  home  I  had. 
And  then  I  quit,  sir,  for  a  while. 

What  made  me  change  my  life  ? 
Why,  we  had  laid  some  money  up, 

Myself  and  my  good  wife, 
(She  didn't  like  the  service  much, 

She  thought  it  made  me  wild)  ; 
And  so  we  bought  a  little  home 

For  us  and  for  the  child. 
But  soon  our  boy  fell  sick  and  died  ; 

It  was  a  fearful  blow. 
My  wife  had  all  the  courage  then  ; 

I  got  so  awful  low, 
And  fretted  so  against  the  Lord, 

She  said  to  me  one  day  : 

"  Tom,  don't  you  think  it's  time  that  you 

Should  give  the  Lord  His  way  ? 
17 


Ir 


VETERAN  TOM  AND  THE  SURGEON. 

He'll  do  His  will,  you  may  be  sure, 

No  matter  how  we  fight ; 
And  though  my  arms  are  empty,  Tom, 

I  know  His  ways  are  right." 

I  quit  my  grumbling,  then  arid  there. 

We  had  a  blessed  life 
Together  for  one  twelvemonth  ;   then 

He  took  away  my  wife. 
Oh,  sir,  I  did  not  fight  Him  then  ; 

It  seemed  to  me  her  prayer, 
Her  dying  prayer  to  God,  it  was 

That  kept  me  from  despair  ; 
For  just  when  all  the  world  grew  dark 

The  Lord  became  my  light ; 
I  reached  my  empty  arms  to  Him — 

I  knew  His  ways  were  right. 

Then  other  troubles  came  through  men- 

They  swore  I  was  a  thief, 

They  stole  my  good  name  from  me,  sir, 

And  gave  me  years  of  grief. 
18 


VETERAN  TOM  AND   THE  SURGEON. 

They  called  me  canting  hypocrite, 

Mocked  at  my  God  and  jeered, 
Until  one  day  the  thief  confessed, 

And  my  good  name  was  cleared. 
But,  oh,  in  every  trouble,  sir, 

And  in  my  sore  disgrace, 
I  never  found  the  gracious  Lord 

Had  turned  away  His  face. 
Not  for  my  goodness — no,  sir,  no  ! 

But  for  His  faithfulness  ; 
The  Lord's  a  friend  that  always  sticks 

The  closer  in  distress. 

Yes,  that  was  years  and  years  ago, 

And  now  I'm  old  and  lame  ; 
They  sent  me  to  this  hospital 

The  year  before  you  came. 
I'd  rather  not  be  pensioned  off, 

Though  I  am  only  fit 
To  help  the  sicker  fellows,  sir, 

And  cheer  them  up  a  bit. 

I'm  like  that  old  cup  on  the  shelf, 
19 


VETERAN  TOM  AND   THE  SURGEON. 

That's  only  good  to  hold 
Fresh  water  for  some  thirsty  chap 

(It's  clean,  sir,  though  it's  old). 
The  devil  used  to  whisper,  sir, 

"  It  is  a  trifle  hard 
That  when  a  fellow  wants  to  march, 

He's  ordered  to  stand  guard." 
But  now  I  wait  my  Captain's  word  ; 

'Twill  sound  through  all  the  host. 
I  want  Him,  when  He  comes,  to  find 

Me  faithful  at  my  post. 

You  ask  me,  Does  His  service  pay  ? 

Aye,  sir,  indeed  it  do  ; 
He  died  for  me,  He  saved  my  soul — 

He'll  do  the  same  for  you. 
With  all  your  learning  and  your  strength, 

Your  free  and  hearty  ways, 
Oh,  'list  for  Jesus,  and  you'll  find 

How  well  His  service  pays  ! 


-       . 

E  VEN  IN  SARD  IS. 


EVEN     IN     S  ARDIS. 

'Thou  hast  a  few  names  even  in  Sardis,  which  have  not  defiled  their  garments^ 
and  they  shall  walk  with  me  in  white  :  for  they  are  worthy.'1'' — Rev.  iii.  4. 

White  robes  among  earth's  filthy  rags, 
And  trustful  hearts  and  tireless  feet 

That  walk  in  heavenly  whiteness,  while 
They  yet  do  tread  Life's  dusty  street. 

Souls  climbing  still  the  thorny  path 

With  heavenward  eyes  and  faces  bright, 

Uncaring  for  the  rugged  way, 

So  they  but  keep  their  garments  white. 

White  robes  in  Sardis  !  noble  names 
Graven  on  God's  fair  roll  of  Life, — 

Of  soldiers  steadfast  at  their  posts, 

Who  fight  unflinching  through  the  strife  ! 

Oh,  faithful  few  !  who  cling  till  Dea'.h 

To  Him  who  holds  the  palm  and  crown, 

Seeking  no  worldly  fame,  nor  wreath  ; 

Heedless  of  earthly  smile  or  frown. 
21 


EVEN  IN  SARDIS. 

O  Saviour  !     Thou  who  walkest  still 
Amidst  the  candlesticks  of  gold  ; 

Whose  own  right  hand  the  seven  stars 
Both  now  and  evermore  doth  hold — 

We  have  not  overcome  the  world. 

Thy  words  ring  out  'midst  cares  and  mirth 
When  comes  again  the  Son  of  man, 

Shall  He  find  faith  upon  the  earth  ?  " 

Grant  us,  dear  Christ !   white  Sardis  hearts — 
To  cleave  to  Thee  when  all  forsake  ; 

To  love  Thee  for  Thyself,  and  all 
The  world  as  only  for  Thy  sake. 

And  facing  thus  the  deadly  foe, 

With  banner  of  Thy  cross  unfurled, 

We  may  fulfill  Thy  last  behest, 

"  Be  in,"  yet  "  be  not  of  the  world." 

So,  battling  ever  in  Thy  strength 
'Gainst  foes  without  and  foes  within, 

We  may  be  conquerors  at  length 
And  many  a  trophy  for  Thee  win. 


. ^ 

THE  SABBATH  SUNSET  HOUR  OF  PR  A  YER. 

Oh,  keep  us,  when  we  struggle  hard, 

From  trusting  to  our  courage  tried  ; 
Help  us  to  make  our  only  boast 

In  our  dear  Leader  glorified  ; 

Teach  us  to  labor,  wrestle,  pray, 

To  walk  in  love,  in  God's  own  light, 
And,  living  'mong  the  Sardis  dead, 

Be  clad  each  day  in  spotless  white. 

"  Even  in  Sardis,"  walking  thus  ; 

Then  whensoe'er  Thy  summons  be, 
We  may  uplift  our  joyful  hands, 

And  go  to  walk  in  white  with  Thee. 


THE    SABBATH    SUNSET    HOUR    OF    PRAYER 

All  through  one  day  in  the  seven, 

While  the  work-days'  banners  are  furled, 

A  beautiful  mystic  girdle 

Unseen  is  clasping  our  world. 
23 


THE  SABBA  TH  SUNSET  HOUR  OF  PR  A  YER. 

In  many  a  secret  chamber, 

In  many  a  heart  unknown, 
In  wilderness,  village,  and  city, 

The  links  of  that  wonderful  zone 

Are  silently,  steadily  forming, 

As,  borne  on  the  evening  air, 
To  our  Father  in  heaven  uprises 

The  voice  of  the  Hour  of  Prayer — 

Of  prayer  for  the  dying  heathen  ; 

Oh,  is  it  not  sweet  to  think 
Each  moment  throughout  the  Lord's  day 

Is  welding  a  golden  link  ; 

And  each  beautiful,  fading  sunset, 
Bearing  heavenward  many  a  plea, 

Sheds  glory  forever  westward — 
A  sunrise  far  over  the  sea  ? 

From  lands  whose  happiest  daughters 

Hear  the  call  of  the  Master,  "  Go  "; 
24 


N^ 


THE  SABBA  TH  SUNSET  HOUR  OF  PR  A  YER. 

From  lands  where  our  fettered  sisters 
Are  dying  so  fast  in  their  woe, 

While  the  hearts  that  tell  them  of  Jesus 

In  sympathy  soon  would  break, 
Except  for  the  Comforter's  presence, 

And  the  thought  of  His  dear  sake  ; 

From  Europe,  America,  Asia, 

And  the  grand  dark  Afric  land, 
In  the  Sabbath  sunset  are  gathered 

Some  links  of  that  endless  band. 

For  the  sun  in  his  circling  journey, 
Ere  he  bids  each  land  good-night, 

As  a  mighty  muezzin  calleth, — 
"  Pray,  pray  for  the  Gospel  light." 

In  accord  are  our  Babel  voices 

When  we  bow  at  the  mercy-seat, 

And  there  are  no  sundering  oceans 

When  we  gather  at  Jesus'  feet. 
25 


1 


THE  SABBATH  SUNSET  HOUR  OF  PR  A  YER. 

From  the  lips  of  women  and  children, 

Made  dumb  by  the  scourge  and  the  thong, 

At  the  touch  of  the  Hand  that  was  wounded, 
Uprises  a  jubilant  song. 

For  land  after  land  rejoices 

That  the  Word  of  our  God  is  free, 

That  the  earth  shall  be  filled  with  His  knowledge 
As  the  waters  that  cover  the  sea. 

With  the  faith  that  removeth  mountains, 
Let  us  pray,  while  we  hopefully  sing, 

And  build  in  the  wastes  of  the  desert 
A  highway  for  our  King. 

Oh,  Hour  of  Prayer  for  the  heathen — 
God  make  it  more  mighty  and  sweet  ! 

Let  it  bind  His  children  together, 

While  they  watch  for  the  beautiful  feet 


Of  Him  who  has  asked  for  the  heathen, 

Who  loves  them,  and  taught  us  to  pray 
26 


A  PRISONER  OF  HOPE. 

That  the  King  would  come  in  His  kingdom, 
And  a  nation  be  born  in  a  day. 


*f 


A    PRISONER    OF    HOPE. 

11  To  bring'  out  the  prisoners  from  the  prison."— Is.  xlii.  7. 

A  prisoner  of  hope, 
And  even  here  held  in  the  Lord's  embrace, 
That,  first  of  heaven's  glories,  thou  may'st  see  His  face, 

When  Death  thy  cell  shall  ope  ! 

The  chains  of  sense  and  sin, 
That  fetter  now  thy  spirit,  wear  away, 
One  link,  and  now  another,  day  by  day, 

As  Jesus  "shuts  thee  in." 

The  exile  homeward  bound 
Still  hasteth,  though  he  groans  'neath  mortal  load. 
The  racer  sometimes  faints  along  the  road, 

Before  his  brows  are  crowned. 

Yet  still  the  Master's  breast 

Is  near  when  earthly  rests  are  all  removed  ; 
27 


A  PRISONER  OF  HOPE. 

His  heart  beats  closest  to  His  own  beloved, 
When  He  alone  is  guest. 

In  this  hushed  house  of  grief, 
Where  linger  still  the  echoes  of  their  feet 
Who  bore  away  our  dearest — golden  wheat 

And  flowers  in  one  sheaf — 

We  patiently  would  wait 
Until  we  hear  the  Master's  longed-for  call  ; 
Until  our  spirits  catch  His  far  foot-fall 

This  side  the  city's  gate. 

Then,  gladly  and  in  haste, 
As  Mary  erst,  would  we  arise  and  fling 
The  damps  and  darkness  off,  which  ever  cling 

Where  Death's  sad  lines  are  traced. 

Thou  earnest,  Lord,  to  free 

Poor  prisoners,  like  me,  from  earthly  chains. 

My  ransom-price  is  paid.     No  debt  remains 

To  witness  against  me. 
28 


''ASLEEP  CV  A  PILLOW." 

So  when  Thy  pierced  feet 
Draw  near  my  prison-house,  straightway  the  door 
Flies  open,  and  with  Thee  forevermore 

I  tread  the  golden  street. 


"ASLEEP    ON    A    PILLOW." 

In  a  little  boat  on  a  southern  sea, 

One  fair  sunshiny  day, 
Upon  a  pillow  I  laid  my  head, 

While  my  thoughts  sailed  far  away  ; — 

To  Him  who  slept,  while  raged  the  storm 

On  the  changeful  Galilee  ; 
To  the  sinking  boat,  and  the  failing  faith, 

Alike  in  jeopardy. 

Oh,  cowardice  of  faithless  hearts 

That  could  not  trust  the  Christ ! 

His  words — "  Unto  the  other  shore" — 

Might  surely  have  sufficed. 
29  • 


r\ 


"ASLEEP  ON  A  PILLOW." 

And  yet,  Lord  Jesus,  though  my  heart 
Springs  up  to  hush  their  cry, — 

Thou  knowest,  if  I  had  been  there, 
The  first  one  had  been  I 

To  rouse  Thee  from  Thy  restful  sleep  ; 

Forgetting  Thou  hadst  said, 
A  little  while  before,  Thou  hadst 

Not  where  to  lay  Thy  head  ! 

The  very  foxes  had  their  holes, 
The  little  birds  their  nest  ; — 

Oh,  pitiful  !  dear  Lord,  that  Thou 
Shouldst  have  no  earthly  rest ! 

What  know  we  of  the  nobler  rest 
The  Father  gave  His  Son, — 

Their  joy  together  in  the  work 
Which  Christ  had  nearly  done  ? 

Dear,  perfect,  human-hearted  Lord, 

Most  patient  still  to  teach, 
30 


k>£ 


'BEHOLD  MY  HANDS  AND  MY  FEET. 

By  miracle  and  parable, 
Thy  lesson  unto  each  ; 

Be  with  us  still,  in  calm  and  storm  ; 

Show  to  our  unbelief 
The  poor,  wild  souls  across  the  sea, 

That  wait  for  Thy  relief. 

So  give  us  courage,  Lord,  and  faith, 
Through  fellowship  with  Thee, 

And  make  us  better  by  the  thoughts 
Thou  sendest  us  at  sea. 


"BEHOLD    MY    HANDS    AND    MY    FEET,    THAT 
IT    IS    I    MYSELF." 

LUKE    xxiv.    39. 

Wounded  hands  and  pierced  side, 

Of  my  Saviour  crucified, 

Pierced  feet  and  thorn-pressed  brow, 

Oh,  that  I  could  see  them  now  ! 

See  the  stripes  which  healed  my  soul, 

See  the  wounds  which  made  me  whole  ! 
31 


'BEHOLD  MY  HANDS  AND  MY  FEET, 

Jesus,  precious  Saviour,  shine 
On  this  longing  soul  of  mine  ! 
Stay  my  heart  upon  Thy  word 
While  Thou  art  my  absent  Lord. 
Make  me  at  each  morning's  light 
Fairer,  Jesus,  in  Thy  sight. 
With  each  nightfall  give  me  rest, 
On  my  blessed  Saviour's  breast. 

Daily  living  on  Thy  grace 

Till  I  see  Thy  glorious  face, 

Draw  me  closer  to  Thy  side, 

Oh,  my  Saviour  crucified  ! 

Satan  says,  How  can  you  dare 

Make  your  rest  and  refuge  there, 

When  you  know  your  heart  within 

Is  a  dreadful  pit  of  sin  ? 

Yet,  my  precious  Riven  Rock, 

Close  round  Thee  my  arms  I  lock. 

Just  because  I'd  else  despair, 

I  have  rushed  for  refuge  there. 

Jesus'  love  has  opened  wide 

For  my  soul  His  pierced  side. 
32 


^> 


JESUS,  MASTER  ! 
JESUS,     MASTER! 

Her  sins,  which  are  many,  are  forgiven  :  for  she  loved   much  ;  but  to  whom 
little  is  forgiven,  the  same  loveth  little.'''' — Luke  vii.  47. 

Master,  I  come  to  Thee, 
Unworthy  though  I  am,  to  bathe  Thy  feet  with  tears  ! 

My  heart  of  sorrow  see, 
And  speak  Thy  word  of  peace  to  drive  away  my  fears. 

Thou  knowest  all  my  heart ; 
Its  human  cravings,  which  Thy  love  has  still  denied, 

The  bitter  tears  that  start 
Sometimes  impatiently  o'er  hopes  unsatisfied. 

And,  even  worse  than  this, 
The  dull  ingratitude  and  heartless  unbelief, 

That  even  'neath  Thy  kiss 
Of  pardoning  peace,  would  turn  and  put  Thy  soul  to  grief. 


For  sin  is  very  strong  ; 

And  I  am  still  so  wavering  and  so  prone  to  sin  ! 

Lord  !  help  me  hate  the  wrong, 

And  make  it  bitter  to  me  by  Thy  discipline. 

33 


A 


THE  GARDENER. 

Though  angels  high  in  Heaven 
Should  say,  "  This  sinner  is  not  fit  our  Lord  to  touch  "; 

"  To  whom  is  ?nuch  forgiven," 
Thou  said'st  of  Magdalen,  "  that  sinner  loveth  much." 

Dear  Lord  !  I  thank  Thy  grace 
That  made  me  not  an  angel,  but  a  struggling  saint  ; 

That,  with  the  weary  race, 
Gave  also  strength  and  courage  to  the  weak  and  faint ; 

I  thank  Thee,  that  I  may 
Not  only  once,  like  her  of  old  at  Simon's  feast, 

But  on  each  earthly  day, 
Bring  every  sorrow,  from  the  greatest  to  the  least ; 

Yet  help  me,  Lord,  to  bring 
Not  only  tears  and  kisses  to  Thy  pierced  feet ; 

But  while  I  weep  and  sing, 
Grant  me  to  offer,  too,  the  costly  ointment  sweet. 


THE     GARDENER. 

Is  this  a  flower  of  mine,  its  tendrils  flinging 

Low  in  the  dust  of  earth  ?     I  scarce  can  see, 
34 


THE  GARDENER. 


In  all  this  wayward,  passionate  earth-clinging, 
One  single  impulse,  Sun  of  Life,  toward  Thee. 

Ah,  strange  this  little  flower  my  hand  hath  planted, 
Shielded  from  wintry  blasts  and  scorching  heat, 

Will  never  climb  the  lattice  heavenward  slanted, 
And  loves  the  darkness  more  than  sunshine  sweet. 

I  will  unclasp  these  clinging  tendrils  binding 

This  poor  plant  earthward,  though  the  needed  knife, 

Sundering  swiftly  what  defies  unwinding, 
Should  make  it  fain  to  yield  its  bleeding  life. 

My  hand  that  hurts  will  heal.     Not  maimed  and  broken, 
But  whole  and  healthful  shall  thy  new  life  be  ; 

My  sharpest  pruning  is  my  surest  token 

That  strength  and  sweetness  yet  shall  spring  in  thee. 

No  bloom  nor  beauty,  leaves  and  tendrils  only 
Were  in  the  old  life  with  its  earthly  scope  ; 

Give  thy  new  sweetness  to  the  sad  and  lonely, 
And  sunward  turn  thy  face  in  heavenlier  hope. 

35 


^4 


HERE  AND  AFTER  HERE. 
HERE    AND    AFTER    HERE. 

They  shall  call  His  name  Emmanuel,  which,  being  interpreted,  is,  God  with 
us."1 — Matt.  i.  23. 

lAs   Thou,  Father,  art  in  me,  and  I  in   Thee,  that  they  also  may  be  one  in 
us.''' — John  xvii.  21. 

Here,  Thou  art  with  us,  blest  Emmanuel ! 

Our  sympathizing,  ever-present  Friend. 
Both  here  and  after  here,  it  still  is  well 

With  Thy  Beloved,  e'en  tho'  heartstrings  rend. 
Yet  here  our  hearts  are  often  stricken  mute  : 

We  think,  in  our  dumb  anguish,  they  must  break. 
God  knows  the  hidden  sweetness  of  His  lute, 

Tightens  the  chords  ;  then  bids  the  music  wake. 
Ah,  there,  in  that  Hereafter  long  and  blest, 

Dwells  He  with  us  !     Nay,  more  !  we  dwell  in  Him. 
The  shattered  tabernacle  hath  its  rest 

Beneath  the  temple's  shadowing  cherubim. 
So,  friends  who  love  me,  when  the  last  good-bye 

Dies  on  my  lips,  be  glad  for  me,  and  swell 
Sweet  holy  psalms  to  waft  my  soul  on  high 

To  rest  in  my  true  home,  Emmanuel ! 


36 


K4T 


THE  BEST  ROBE. 

THE     BEST     ROBE. 

In  the  heavenly  robing-room 
Is  a  garment  beyond  price, 

Woven  in  the  ruddy  loom 
Of  Immanuel's  sacrifice. 

Hark  !     A  wayward  child  begins 
To  confess,  all  sin-defiled : 
"  Father,  I,  all  guilt  and  sins, 
Am  not  fit  to  be  Thy  child. 

11  Yet,  oh,  grant  to  me  a  place 

As  a  servant  " — Ere  the  thought 
Finds  his  lips,  the  Father's  grace 
Sets  his  fears  and  shame  at  naught. 

u  Bring  the  robe,"  the  great  King  cries ; 
Happy  angels  bring  the  best, 
While  the  sorrowing  beggar  lies 
Clasped  unto  his  Father's  breast. 

"  Clothe  him  in  this  royal  dress — 

'Tis  my  son,  who  once  was  lost, 
37 


*A 


SONG  OF  MERCY. 


Robe  him  in  the  righteousness 
Which  Immanuel's  life-blood  cost. 


"  Hither  now,  my  servants,  bring 
Sandals  for  his  bruised  feet, 
For  his  hand  my  royal  ring, 

Sonship's  pledge  and  seal  complete. 

Joy  in  heaven  !     The  glad  refrain 
Sweeps  the  universe  around  ; 
11  One  was  dead  who  lives  again, 
God's  dear  wanderer  is  found  !  " 


SONG     OF     MERCY. 

Not  by  zvorks  of  righteousness  "which  -we  have  done,  but  according  to  His 
mercy  He  saved  us." — Titus  iii.  5. 

This  eventide,  no  loving  deeds 

Of  mine  have  grateful  incense  sent 

To  Him,  whose  waiting  face  is  bent 

Above  His  golden  censer, 

While  He  intercedes. 
38 


SONG  OF  MERCY. 

The  golden  vials  have  out-poured 

Their  precious  odors,  dear  High-Priest ! 
Of  all  the  myriad  prayers,  the  least 
Was  that  ascended  from 

My  heart,  O  patient  Lord  ! 

Oh,  how  canst  Thou  accept  in  Heaven, 
Such  worthless  service,  feeble  love, 
So  slow  its  little  life  to  prove — 
Except  as  slumbering  proved 
The  sorrowful  Eleven  ! 

Saviour,  I  shrink  my  prayers  to  bring ; 
My  faith  is  loth  to  grasp  Thy  word, 
And  hope  is  like  a  wounded  bird, 
That  scarcely  can  be  made 
To  try  its  broken  wing. 

"  My  child  !     I  know  it  better  far 

Than  thou  canst  tell  me  ;  I  have  seen 

Thy  long  day's  toil  ;  I  know  how  keen 

The  sufferings  of  thy  life 

Of  weary  wrestling  are. 
39 


K 


COMFORTED. 

"  Press  closer  to  my  wounded  side, 
My  child  !     Remember  that  in  me, 
All  mine  are  justified  and  free. 
Thou  mayest  make  thy  boast 
In  me,  the  Crucified  ! 

"  Not  for  their  faithful,  fervent  prayers, 
Are  any  saved  !     For  love  that  burns 
Are  none  accepted.     Each  one  turns 
From  self  and  lays  his  hand 

Upon  the  Lamb  who  bears 

M  The  sins  of  failure,  as  of  guilt. 

Fear  not !     Whom  I,  the  Lord,  do  choose 
I  often  scourge  ;  but  never  lose 
One  poor,  weak,  wayward  lamb, 

For  whom  my  blood  was  spilt ! " 


COMFORTED. 

"'As  one  whom  his  mother  comforteth,  so  will  I  comfort  you:  and  ye  shall  be 
comforted  in  Jerusalem ." — Isaiah  lxvi.   13. 

'  Ye  shall  be  comforted  !  "     As  when  a  sobbing  child 

Within  its  mother's  arms,  its  griefs  confessed, 

40 


COMFORTED. 

By  her  caresses  fond  unconsciously  beguiled 
From  memories  of  pain,  soon  sinks  to  rest ! 

"So  will  I  comfort  you."     Dear  Lord,  our  hearts  are  sore  ! 

We  would  be  little  children  once  again, 
But  childhood  would  bring  back  the  griefs  we  knew  of  yore, 

And  not  the  mother  who  caressed  us  then  ! 

We  need  a  stronger  love  ;  we  seek  a  deeper  rest — 
Whose  type  and  earnest  we  once  knew  in  this  ; 

The  nestling  of  the  child  upon  its  mother's  breast, 
The  sweet  dreams  won  us  by  her  good-night  kiss. 

Lord,  grant  us  restful  sleep,  untroubled,  sweet  and  calm  ; 

Not  fitful  slumbers  in  life's  fevered  dream. 
Oh,  seal  our  weary  eyelids  with  Thy  touch  of  balm  ; 

Not  to  re-ope  until  the  Great  Day's  gleam. 

And  yet  we  are  such  children — foolish,  weak,  and  blind — 

That  while  we  pray  for  sleep,  Thy  gentle  hand 

May  change  the  calming  cup,  and,  far  more  wise  and  kind, 

Give  needed  bitterness,  with  this  command  : 

41 


COM  FOR  TED. 

"  Drink,  child  !   Thy  Father's  love  shall  make  the  unsought 
draught 

Sweet  to  thy  soul,  though  bitter  to  thy  lips. 
Think  how  for  thee  thy  gracious  Elder  Brother  quaffed 

The  cup  of  anguish, 'neath  my  Love's  eclipse." 

Ah,  Father  !  whatsoe'er  Thy  children  truly  need 

Thou  givest — not  whatever  we  beseech. 
Often  we  rashly  think  Thy  pity  gives  no  heed, 

When  still  Thou  holdest  blessings  out  of  reach. 

But  when  the  long,  hard  lesson  we  have  learned  at  length, 
And  with  unmurmuring  meekness  we  receive 

The  cup  whose  bitter  draught  gives  new  and  mighty  strength,. 
We  own  Thy  faithful  love  and  no  more  grieve ; 

Resting  in  patient  hope,  although  Thou  long  withhold 
The  chalice,  death  and  life-brimmed,  chrismal  seal 

Of  conquest,  at  whose  touch  the  gates  of  pearl  unfold, 
And  all  the  golden  city's  bliss  reveal. 

We  only  wait  as  minors,  till  the  glad  birthday 

Shall  crown  us  kings  before  our  Father's  throne  ; 

42 


A  RECRUITIXG  SOXG. 

As  exile  princes  now,  although  so  far  away, 
We  look  unto  the  land  we  call  our  own. 

Yet,  comfortless  as  orphans  Thou  dost  never  make 

Thine  own.     Who  trust  in  Thee,  Thou'lt  keep  in  peace  ; 

And  when  our  night-time  comes,  Thou'lt  bid  us  sleep  to  wake 
Where  every  sob  is  hushed  and  sorrows  cease. 


A    RECRUITING    SOXG. 

Oh,  who'll  enlist  for  Jesus  ? 

Who'll  bear  the  Saviour's  cross, 
And  count  all  earthly  honors, 

Compared  with  this,  as  dross? 
Who'll  guard  our  Captain's  colors, 

And  all  their  foes  defy  ? 
A  hundred  voices  answer, 

"I  will,"  M  And  I,"  "And  I !" 

He  is  the  noblest  Captain 

That  e'er  on  earth  drew  breath. 

He  vanquished  hell  and  Satan, 

And  dying,  conquered  death. 
43 


A  RECRUITING  SONG. 

He  loved  us  when  rebellious, 

And  in  the  ranks  of  sin  ; 
He  tenderly  besought  us, 

That  He  our  love  might  win. 

He  sought  us  when  deserters, 

To  bring  us  back  when  found, 
And  will  you  let  His  colors 

Be  trailed  upon  the  ground  ? 
Come  !  pledge  your  hearts  and  honor 

To  fight  for  Him  till  death— 
To  stand  beside  the  standard 

Of  Christ  of  Nazareth. 

Aye  !  aye  !     We'll  fight  for  Jesus, 
And  trust  His  mighty  strength, 

To  fortify  our  weakness, 
And  shield  us,  till  at  length 

He'll  give  us  glorious  triumph 
O'er  hell,  the  world,  and  sin, 

When  to  the  Great  Headquarters 

We  shall  be  gathered  in. 
44 


A  RECRUITING  SOXG. 


■ 


w  No  Captain  now  but  Jesus  !  " 

Let  this  our  watchword  be, 
This  countersign  He  gives  us, 

"  Fear  not,  but  follow  Me." 
And  when  we  hear  Him  saying, 

"  Sleep  now,  and  take  your  rest," 
We'll  slumber  till  the  joyful 

Reveille  of  the  Blest. 

To  him  that  overcometh. 

And  through  the  deadly  strife 
Is  unto  death  found  faithful. 

He'll  give  a  Crown  of  Life. 
And  at  the  last  grand  muster, 

Before  the  Great  White  Throne, 
Our  glorious  Brother  Captain 

His  soldiers'  names  will  own. 

Now  is  not  this  a  Captain, 

Beneath  whose  flag  to  fight, 

Whose  life-blood  dyed  His  colors, 

Whose  cause  is  always  right  ? 
45 


EASTER  JOY. 

Come  !  rally  round  His  standard, 
Ascended  now  on  high, 

0  soldiers,  shout  the  answer, 
"I  will,"  "And  I,"  "And  I." 


EASTER     JOY. 

Weeping  may  endure  for  a  nighty  but  joy  cometh  in  the  morning-."— "Ps.  xxx.  5. 

Joy  in  the  morning  cometh  ; 

Dear  heart,  why  still  be  sad  ? 
In  Christ,  our  Resurrection, 

We  may  to-day  be  glad. 

The  glorious  day-dawn  breaketh, 

The  shadows  flee  away  ; 
For  in  our  risen  Saviour 

We  rise  anew  each  day. 

No  tomb  of  sin  can  hold  us 

If  we  with  Christ  are  dead  ; 
For  far  above  the  heavens 

We  live  with  Him,  our  Head. 

46 


MY  PLEA. 

In  Him  our  life  is  hidden  : 
Who  shall  our  peace  destroy  ? 

Each  day  "  He  gives  us  richly 
All  good  things  to  enjoy." 

Forgiveness,  love,  and  guidance  ; — 
All  joys  of  this  our  lot — 

Come  from  our  loving  Father, 
Whose  heart  "  upbraideth  not." 

Dear  heart,  why  still  go  weeping  ? 

The  long,  long  night  is  past ; 
The  true  light  now  is  shining, 

And  joy  has  come  at  last ! 


MY      PLEA 


// 


For  Thy  name's  sake,  O  Lord !  pardon  mine  iniquity ;  for  it  is  great" 
— Psalm  xxv.  ii. 

Oh,  love  of  Christ  most  true  and  deep, 

Stronger  than  Satan's  hate  ! 

Rest  here  thine  only  plea,  my  heart, 

And  be  importunate  : 
47 


: 


MY  PLEA. 

I  pray  Thee,  Lord,  forgive  my  sins, 
Because  they  are  so  great. 

Full  often  I  deny  my  Lord 
In  weakness,  pride,  and  fears  ; 

Thy  patient  love  that  chideth  not, 
Brings  always  bitter  tears. 

Dear  Lord,  how  often  Thou  hast  "  turned 
And  looked  "  on  me,  these  years ! 

Oh,  break  my  heart,  dear  Christ,  I  pray, 
With  grief  for  grieving  Thee  ; 

And  let  Thy  blood  still  take  away 
My  broken  heart  from  me, 

Lest  I  should  trust  its  brokenness, 
Instead  of  trusting  Thee. 

My  soul  to-night  is  tempest-tossed, 

And  like  a  weary  dove 
Would  make  its  rest  within  Thine  arms, 

And  in  Thine  ebbless  love 

Would  see  the  blessed  Olive  branch 

All  floods  and  fears  above. 
48 


INTO  THE  HOLIEST. 

I  will  not  doubt  Thee,  Lord,  nor  dread 
Lest,  when  all  storms  are  past, 

A  dove  of  Thine  should  ever  prove 
A  raven  at  the  last ; 

The  love  which  lived  through  death  for  me 
Will  surely  hold  me  fast. 


INTO    THE    HOLIEST. 

By  whom  also  we  have  access  by  faith  into  this  grace  ivherein  toe  stand. 
— Romans  v.  2. 

Into  this  grace,  abiding,  sweet, 
Which  like  a  magic  room  at  first 

Before  my  eyes  arose, 
And  daily  to  a  loftier  height, — 

A  nobler  grandeur,  grows, 
Oh,  Door  of  Life,  oh,  living  Door, 

Which  never  man  shall  close, 
Thou  led'st  my  wayward  feet. 

By  Him  we  have  received  this  grace 

Wherein  we,  changtful  in  ourselves, 

Unchangeable  shall  stand, 
49 


HA 


J* 


INTO  THE  HOLIEST. 

In  strength  to  which  the  mountain's  cliffs 

Are  like  the  shifting  sand  ; 
In  strength  immovable  because 

Supported  by  the  Hand 
Which  shakes  the  mountain's  base. 

The  purple  Temple  veil  was  rent 
That  we,  as  royal  priests  through  Thee, 

"  The  new  and  living  way," 
Close  passing  by  the  altar  where 

The  precious  victim  lay, 
Into  the  Holiest  Place  of  all 

Might  enter  day  by  day, 
By  "better  Testament." 

Oh,  Living  Ladder,  up  by  Thee, 
Into  our  Father's  arms  we  climb 

As  children  very  dear  ; 
And  speaking  all  our  fearless  hearts 

We  know  that  He  will  hear 
The  prayers  whose  childlike  utterance 

May  reach  no  human  ear, 

In  love  so  glad  and  free. 
50 


THE  IRON  GA  TE. 

Dear  Brother  Christ,  to  Thee  we  cling, 
For  Thou  dost  know  our  human  frame, 

And  every  human  grief; 
And  by  the  way  of  painful  cross 

Thou  bringest  best  relief. 
What  wonder  then,  that  in  our  hearts 

Thou  shouldst  be  Lord  and  Chief, 
Our  Brother  and  Our  King ! 


'*f 


THE     IRON     GATE. 

They  came  unto  the  iron  gate  that  leadeth  unto  the  city,  which  opened  to 
them  of  its  own  accord.'1'' 

With  eyes  whose  vision-range  is  low, 
With  hearts  that  are  content  to  grope, 

We  fail  to  see  the  hosts  of  God 

That  throng  the  higher  hills  of  hope. 

But  still  we  know  Thy  angels,  Lord, 

Encamp  around  us  day  and  night ; 

And  sometimes  faith  uplifts  the  veil 

That  hides  "  the  witnesses  "  from  sight. 
51 


THE  IRON  GA  TE. 

And  when  our  captive  hearts  lie  bound 
By  fetters  which  we  can  not  break, 

With  shining  light  the  angel  comes, 
And  at  his  touch  those  hearts  awake  ; 

Awake  to  know  that  we  are  freed 
From  forces  we  could  never  fight ; 

To  know  deliverance  has  come 

By  prayer,  and  not  by  mortal  might. 

So,  when  with  love  unquestioning, 
We  trust  the  guidance  of  our  Lord, 

Each  iron  gate  that  bars  the  way 
Will  open  of  its  own  accord. 

What,  to  the  Lord  of  all  the  earth, 
Are  Herod  and  his  men  of  war  ; 

The  stubborn  heart  of  friend  or  foe, 
The  keepers,  or  the  bolted  door  ? 

He  saves  by  many  or  by  few  ; 

Leave  Israel's  battles  to  the  Lord. 
A  pebble  slung  by  David's  hand 

Is  better  than  Goliath's  sword. 

52 


THE  IRON  GA  TE. 

The  piece  of  silver  from  the  sea. 
The  cruse  of  oil  that  wasted  not, 

May  find  their  answering  types  to-day 
In  many  a  lowly  Christian's  lot. 

God  leads  His  children  forth  alike, 
From  wilderness  or  prison-cell ; 

And  gives  the  desolate  a  home 
Of  light  and  joy  unspeakable. 

From  closing  walls  of  circumstance, 
From  gloomy  Castle  of  Despair, 

His  arm  will  bring  deliverance, 
In  answer  to  unceasing  prayer. 

Through  narrow  ways  of  toil  and  grief, 
He  brings  us  to  "an  open  place"; 

Beyond  the  gate  the  city  lies, 

The  goal  of  His  all-guiding  grace. 

O  blessed  parable  to  us, 

To  teach  us  how  to  trust  our  Lord  ! 

For,  last  of  all,  Death's  iron  gate 

Will  open  of  its  own  accord. 
53 


<-e 


"OPEN  THOU  MY  LIPS" 

"OPEN    THOU    MY    LIPS." 

0  Lord,  I  pray  Thee  touch 

My  sinful,  mute,  earth-kissing  lips  with  Thy  pure  hand, 
And  give  me  grace  Thy  will  and  ways  to  understand  ! 
Lord,  is  this  boon  too  much  ? 

Yet,  if  Thou  choose  to  seal 
My  lips  in  endless  silence,  I  would  gladly  lay 
Thy  patient  hand  upon  them  evermore,  and  pray, 

"  Thyself  in  this  reveal !  " 

1  have  not  learned  the  speech 
Of  angels  in  the  glorious  new  Jerusalem  ; 

And  yet  I  hope  my  lips  have  touched  His  garment's  hem, 
Who  often  deigns  to  reach 

His  hand  of  tenderness — 
Ah,  precious,  pierced  hand  which  once  for  sinners  bled  !- 
From  heaven  down  to  earth  to  lay  it  on  my  head, 

In  heavenly  caress. 

Lord,  wouldst  Thou  have  me  be 
Forever  silent,  when  Thou  hast  my  soul  redeemed, 


' '  OPE V  THO  U  M  Y  LIPS. " 

And  now  within  Thine  arms  dost  hold  the  lamb  that  seemed 
So  lost  to  heaven  and  Thee  ? 

With  a  warm,  living  coal 
From  off  Moriah's  altar,  where  God's  Isaac  laid 
His  willing  offering,  and  thus  our  ransom  paid, 

Revivify  my  soul ! 

Touch  lips,  and  heart,  and  life, 
That  I  may  bear  forever  with  me,  till  I  die, 
Immanuel's  death,  and  still  repeat  His  dying  cry 

Which  ended  all  the  strife. 

Teach  me,  dear  Lord,  to  speak 
For  Thee.     So  shall  I  never  fear  to  speak  amiss  ; 
And  when  Thou'dst  have  me  silent,  seal  with  Thine  own  kiss 

My  dying  accents  weak. 

May  even  Death's  eclipse 

Then  throw  a  halo  round  some  timid,  tearful  word, 

In  weakness  sown  for  Christ — in  power  raised  and  heard 

From  silent,  death-sealed  lips. 
55 


'REX  ERIS,  SI  RECTE  EACIAS: 


REX    ERIS,    SI    RECTE    FACIAS.' 

{Roman  school-boy' s  shout.) — Horace. 

The  shadows  fall,  the  sunshine  flies, 

It  is  the  old,  sad  story  ; 
And  half  of  life  in  darkness  lies 

When  gloom  enfolds  the  glory. 

Yet  darkest  night  grows  into  morn, 
And  midnight  brings  the  morrow  ; 

So  peace  of  patient  trust  is  born, 
And  strength  comes  out  of  sorrow. 

The  life  that  is  the  blessedest 
Is  not  alway  the  brightest  ; 
And  hearts  that  seek  no  present  rest 
'    Are  evermore  the  lightest. 

The  soldier's  warfare  is  not  long, 
However  stern  and  friendless  ; 

God's  battle  is  not  to  the  strong — 
The  victor's  joy  is  endless. 

Though  Eden's  innocence  is  past, 

With  happiness  primeval, 
56 


"UNTIL   THE  DA  Y  BREAK." 

Far  higher  is  the  might  to  cast 
Away  and  crush  the  evil. 

Each  human  heart  from  out  the  strong 
May  bring  the  hidden  sweetness, 

By  trusting  Him  who  wields  the  Wrong 
To  work  the  Right's  completeness. 

And  he  who  walks  with  fearless  tread 
To  do  God's  bidding  willing, 

Shall  surely  bruise  the  serpent's  head, 
God's  word  of  old  fulfilling. 

Then  bring  the  glory  out  of  life, 
By  trust  and  brave  endeavor  ; 

Who  comes  a  victor  from  this  strife 
Shall  dwell  a  king  forever. 


"UNTIL    THE   DAY    BREAK." 

Until  the  day  break,  and  the  shadows  flee  away" — Cant.  ii.  17. 

Oh,  take  me  in  Thine  arms  to  rest, 

Until  the  breaking  of  the  morn  ! 

57 


"UNTIL   THE  DA  Y  BREAK:1 

I  am  so  weary,  sad,  forlorn, 
So  faithless  at  the  best ; 

So  "  troubled  about  many  things," 
I  wait  one  moment  at  Thy  feet, 
But  ere  the  promised  peace  so  sweet 
Folds  its  ethereal  wings 

Within  my  panting  heart,  I  rise 
Still  cumbered  with  my  little  cares, 
Forgetting  Him  who  ever  shares 
Our  pains,  to  sympathize. 

Ah,  wearily  the  race  I  run  ! 
The  burden,  which  to  love  is  light, 
Becomes  too  heavy  for  my  might, 
"  Not  to  leave  aught  undone," 

The  toiling  spirit  ceaseless  cries. 

Ah  !  Jesus  knows  "  the  flesh  is  weak  !  " 

Poor  heart !  a  spirit,  loving,  meek, 

Thy  Saviour  more  doth  prize 

58 


^R?l\ 


"UNTIL   THE  DA  Y  BREAK." 

Than  all  this  struggling  eagerness. 
The  Shepherd  shows  both  staff  and  rod. 
"  Be  still !  and  know  that  I  am  God  !  " 
He  says  in  tenderness. 

11  Remember,  Isaac  struggled  not 
When  on  Moriah's  altar  bound — 
Hast  thou  such  trials  ever  found 
Appointed  in  thy  lot  ?  " 

Here  to  the  altar's  horns  with  cords, 
Lord,  bind  this  lamb,  although  it  be 
A  sacrifice  unworthy  Thee, 

Yet,  scoffer,  'tis  the  Lord's  ! 

And  for  the  One  Great  Offering's  sake, 
Oh,  make  me  strong  to  bear  Thy  will ; 
Strong  now  to  suffer  and  lie  still 
Until  the  morning  break. 

No  works  can  ever  so  much  please 

Him  whom  afar  we  follow  still, 

As  child-like  yielding  to  His  will, 

Through  life's  stern  agonies. 
59 


*A 


ONE   WHOM  THOU  LOVE  ST,  LORD. 

Who  waits  with  patience  on  the  Lord, 
And  watcheth  through  the  weary  night 
Beside  his  armor,  in  the  fight 

Bears  Jesus'  shield  and  sword. 

So  now  I  lay  my  cares  to  rest 
Upon  His  heart  who  knows  them  all. 
He  will  not  let  a  sparrow  fall 
That  flutters  to  His  breast  ! 


ONE  WHOM  THOU  LOVEST,  LORD! 

One  whom  Thou  lovest,  Lord,  is  sick  ! 

Oh,  grant  her  strengthening  rest, 
And  thoughts  of  peace  when  she  awakes, 

Howe'er  by  pain  oppressed  : 
Sweet  thoughts  of  Him  who  comes  most  near 

Us  when  we  are  distressed. 

We  know,  dear  Lord,  Thou  lovest  her  ; 

Far  better  e'en  than  we  ! 

Thy  grace  shall  be  sufficient  grace, 

In  her  extremity. 
60 


ONE   WHOM  THOU  LOVE  ST,  LORD. 

And  the  full  blessedness  of  trust 
Shall  ue  inwrought  by  Thee. 

For  He  who  suffered  once  for  us, 
Still  suffers  with  His  own  ; 

The  love  that  "spared  not  the  Son," 
Yet  spares  us  many  a  moan, 

And  lifts  the  crushing  burden,  we 
Could  never  bear  alone. 

Lord  Jesus,  let  the  loving  hearts 
Which  compass  her  around, 

Speak  ever  of  that  depth  of  love 
In  which  our  griefs  are  drowned. 

The  love  in  which  we  safely  rest 
Our  hearts  can  never  sound. 

As  one  whose  mother  comforts  him 
With  sweet  and  close  caress, 

Thou  comfortest  Thy  children  now 
In  every  sore  distress  : 

So  comfort  her,  to-night,  dear  Lord, 

With  Thine  own  tenderness  ! 
61 


h- 


THE  BURNT  PA  TH. 

GOOD-BYE! 

We  said  "  Good-bye  "  !     It  was  a  heartfelt  prayer, 
A  homely  household  blessing,  old  and  sweet, 

Beseeching  God's  good  guidance  everywhere, 
Whatever  dangers  our  beloved  meet. 

So  God  be  with  you  !  prayed  I  for  my  friend, 
Not  dreaming  how,  while  different  paths  we  trod, 

Would  come  the  answer,  ere  one  short  year's  end, 
When  he  went  home  to  be  for  aye  with  God ! 

And  yet  what  better  portion  could  we  crave 
E'en  for  our  dearest?     Earth  could  not  afford 

A  joy  like  his  to-day  ;  his  early  grave 

Gave  early  access  to  his  longed-for  Lord  ! 


THE    BURNT    PATH. 

isaiah  lxii.  16. 

My  path  lay  through  the  wilderness  ; 

I  only  dared  to  pray 

My  Father  for  the  promised  strength, 

For  every  lonely  day. 
62 


. 


THE  BURNT  PA  TH. 

He  set  my  feet  in  pleasant  ways, 

He  gave  me  love,  to  bless 
The  heart  that  had  not  dared  to  ask 

For  human  tenderness. 

I  lean  from  out  my  window  height, 

This  quiet  summer  eve  ; 
A  terror  has  laid  hold  on  me, — 

I  fain  would  not  receive 

The  parable  my  eyes  have  read, 

The  meaning  made  so  plain, 
That,  turn  my  eyes,  and  turn  my  thoughts, 

I  see  it  yet  again. 

At  dawn  there  was  a  meadow  fair : 

Beyond,  a  field  of  wmeat, 
Daisies  and  buttercups  looked  up, 

'Mid  clover  blossoms  sweet. 

No  path  lay  through  the  pleasant  field, 

No  footsteps  sought  to  gain 
63 


^A 
z 


THE  B  URNT  PA  TH. 

The  hill  beyond  the  meadow  land, 
Beyond  the  nodding  grain. 

To-night !  a  hidden  path  lies  bare, 

For  grass  and  grain  are  low, 
The  flames  that  wasted  them  have  shown 

The  path  I  did  not  know. 

Oh,  have  I  read  Thy  meaning  right  ? 

Is  this  Thy  way  for  me  ? 
The  daisied  grass,  the  nodding  grain, 

The  hill-top  fair  to  see  : 

And  then,  the  sudden,  leaping  flames, 

So  ruthless  in  their  haste 
To  sweep  the  pleasant  fields,  and  show 

The  path  through  blackened  waste. 

O  God,  Thou  seest,  knowest  all, 

I  pray  Thee  quiet  me, 

And  make  me  brave,  if  need  be  so, 

To  walk  that  way  with  Thee. 
64 


THANKFULNESS. 

THANKFULNESS. 

"  I  shiver,  shiver,  mother, 

I  can  not  go  to  sleep  ! 
If  you  would  stop  your  sewing, 

And  only  let  me  creep 
Close  up  beside  you,  mother, 

If  you  would  hold  me  tight, 
I  wouldn't  mind  the  howling 

Of  the  ugly  wind  all  night. 
It's  crying  to  get  in  here, 

Perhaps  it's  lost  its  way  ; 
How  many  hours,  mother, 

Before  it  will  be  day  ?  " 

Through  crevice  and  through  casement 
The  wind  swept  drearily. 
"  Oh,  God,"  she  prayed,  "  have  mercy 
On  all  who  're  out  at  sea !  " 
Then  kneeling  at  the  bedside, 
In  loving  voice  she  said  : 
"  My  darling,  you  know  mother 

Must  sew  to  earn  our  bread. 

65 


^4— 


i 


THANKFULNESS. 

By  'nd  by  we'll  have  a  blanket, 

So  soft,  and  thick,  and  warm: 
Then  Willie  needn't  shiver, 

Nor  mind  the  wind  and  storm. 
By  'nd  by,  when  father's  ship  comes — ' 

"  Oh,  mother,  don't  you  cry  ! 
'Twill  be  real  jolly,  mother, 

But  when  is  by  and  by  ?  " 

u  God  knows,  God  knows,  my  darling," 

She  murmurs  brokenly. 

"  Why,  doesn't  God  love  father 

As  much  as  you  love  me  ? 

I  know  you  said  so,  mother, 

And  I  am  just  as  sure 

He's  awful  sorry  for  us  now, 

Because  we're  cold  and  poor." 

The  mother's  face  was  lifted, 

With  happy  trust  aglow  ; 

("A  little  child  shall  lead  the?n  !  ") 

"  Now,  precious,  I  must  go, 

So  I  can  finish  sewing 

Before  the  lamp  burns  low." 
66 


SK 


THA  NKF  UL  NE  SS. 

She  held  him  close,  and  kissed  him, 

Then  swiftly  left  the  room  ; 
Moved  by  a  sudden  impulse, 

She  passed  into  the  gloom, 
With  flickering  light  to  guide  her, 

Unhinged  the  outer  door, 
And  with  it,  back  to  Willie 

She  came,  and  on  the  floor 
Knelt  down  again  beside  him, 

And  laughing,  gaily  said  : 
"  See,  here's  a  funny  blanket, 

A  blanket  for  your  bed. 
I'll  make  a  little  house,  dear, 

A  tent  against  the  wall !  " 
"  Oh,  mother  dear,  that's  jolly, 

I  don't  feel  cold  at  all. 
Good-night,  my  dear,  good  mother, 

I  think  God  must  have  sent 
The  very  thought  into  your  heart 

About  this  little  tent. 

Please  thank  Him  ;  I'm  so  sleepy  ; — 

So  sorry — sorry  for" — 
67 


O UR  SA  VIO UR'SLO  VE. 

The  words  fell  slowly — u  little  boys, 
That  have  no  cellar-door  !  " 


OUR    SAVIOUR'S    LOVE. 

Dear  Lord  !  Thou  knowest  oftentimes 
I  wonder  if  so  faint  a  strife 
Be  strife  at  all.     The  inner  life 

Is  lulled  by  far-off  fairy  chimes 

So  willingly.  The  rainbow  gleam 
Of  by-gone  happiness  and  tears, 
The  opening  vista  of  the  years, 

The  memory  sad,  the  happy  dream, 

Throng  the  recesses  of  my  heart. 

They  haunt  with  almost  ghostly  sway 

The  sunny  hours  of  the  day, 
And  just  at  eventide  depart. 

And  yet,  and  yet,  Thou  still  dost  stand, 
While  one  who  bears  Thy  precious  name 
Thus  puts  Thee  to  an  open  shame, 

Piercing  the  nail-prints  in  Thy  hand. 


68 


OUR  SAVIOUR'S  LOVE. 

Ah,  patient  Lord  !  I  scarce  can  brook 

The  thought  of  my  ingratitude, 

When,  after  my  denials  rude, 
Thou  turnest  with  Thy  melting  look, 

So  full  of  untold  tenderness, 

And  yet  of  wondrous,  wondering  grief — 

As  if  it  were  beyond  belief — 
Thou  turnest,  ready  still  to  bless 

Thy  sinful,  wayward,  worthless  child. 

Thou  knowest  how  my  love  grows  cold  ! 

Close  to  Thy  pitying  heart,  oh,  hold 
The  heart  so  oft  by  earth  beguiled  ! 

Here !  Lord,  I  pray  Thee,  enter  in 
Thy  temple  gates,  and  with  a  scourge 
Drive  out  this  earthly  traffic,  purge 

Thy  house  of  fellowship  with  sin. 

Set  Thine  own  angel  with  a  sword 

To  guard  Thy  house,  "  the  house  of  prayer," 

And  seal  each  creature  entering  there 

With  "  Holiness  unto  the  Lord  !  " 
69 


-so*. 


4±^ 


THE  BLOSSOM  STORM. 

THE    BLOSSOM    STORM. 

•Out  from  the  happy  sunshine, 
Into  the  drenching  rain  ; 
The  sky  is  so  black,  I  wonder 
If  the  sun  will  shine  again, 

While  down  in  my  heart  are  ringing 
The  words  that  you  uttered  to-day  : 
"  There's  a  storm  that  bringeth  the  blossoms, 
As  surely  as  cometh  the  May." 

An  hour  ago  the  village 

Was  gay  with  the  changing  crowd  ; 
And  up  in  the  blue,  blue  heavens, 

Was  only  a  tiny  cloud. 

The  trees  stand  firm  in  the  shower, 
The  shower  grows  into  a  storm  ; 

And  the  dear  little  birdlings  nestle 
Safe  under  their  covert  warm. 

While  all  through  the  dashing  rain-drops, 

A  low,  sweet  song  of  content 
70 


-» 


THE  BLOSSOM  STORM. 

Is  breathed  from  woodland  and  meadow, 
For  the  rain  the  Father  hath  sent. 

And  the  tiny  buds  that  the  sunshine 
Would  wither,  grow  fast  in  the  rain  ; 

As  lives,  that  in  pleasure  would  perish, 
Grow  noble  and  fruitful  in  pain. 

For  the  good  Lord  of  the  harvest 

Is  marking  each  bud  and  each  shoot ; 

And  sendeth  the  storm  to  strengthen 
The  blossom  that  grows  into  fruit. 

As  one  that  waits  for  the  morning 
Through  the  sad  and  lonely  night, 

I  watch  for  the  joy  that  cometh 
Again  with  returning  light. 
•         •••••• 

The  rain  is  over  at  daybreak, 

And  the  Sabbath  sunshine  warm 

Floods  the  glad  earth  that  is  wearing 

The  beauty  which  grew  in  the  storm. 
7i 


;v 


THE  BLOSSOM  STORM. 

I  think  of  the  vision  on  Tabor, 

And  the  raiment  zo  vondrously  white 

Of  the  glorious  resurrection 
After  the  sad,  dark  night — 

Of  the  clouds  that  once  were  gathered, 
Of  the  storms  that  once  were  poured 

On  the  trees  that  stand  forever 
In  the  garden  of  the  Lord. 

Forever  they  grow  in  the  sunshine, 
While  to  us  life's  trouble  and  pain 

Must  be  like  the  clouds  of  heaven, 
Returning  still  after  the  rain. 

But  standing  to-day  in  the  sunshine, 
God's  sunshine,  sweet  and  warm, 

We  pray — may  each  sorrow  He  sendeth 
Be  ever  a  Blossom  Storm. 


72 


LIGHTS  ASHORE. 

LIGHTS     ASHORE. 

The  ship  was  anchored  in  the  bay — 

Upon  the  shore,  the  town 
Rose  up  and  climbed  among  the  palms 

Just  where  the  sun  went  down. 

In  gloom  died  out  the  sunset  glow 

Upon  the  leaden  sea, 
But  still  the  city  on  the  hill 

Grew  brighter  silently. 

More  white  and  fair  it  gleamed  afar, 

As  heavier  fell  the  night ; 
But  dull  and  dark  the  waters  lay 

Between  us  and  the  light. 

Athwart  the  gloom,  like  sea-gull  fair, 
A  boat  shoots  from  the  shore, 

With  fringe  of  phosphorescent  light 
On  every  flashing  oar. 

A  living  thing  of  light  it  seems — 

Swift,  welcome-bringing  bark  ! 
73 


4^ 


LIGHTS  ASHORE. 

A  carrier-dove  from  home,  sweet  home, 
To  sad  hearts  in  the  dark. 

Then  sweet  and  clear  across  the  waves 
The  vesper  chimes  are  borne — 

Glad  joy-bells  from  the  shining  heights 
To  wanderers  forlorn  ! 

Oh,  lights  ashore  !     Oh,  little  boat, 

And  heavenly  vesper-bell  ! 
The  thoughts  that  tremble  in  my  heart, 

I  know  not  how  to  tell ! 

How  deep  and  dark  the  leaden  waves — 

How  fair  the  city's  light — 
How  lonely  lies  our  exiled  ship 

At  anchor  in  the  night ! 

How  fairer  still  must  heaven  be  ! 

Oh,  could  some  white  dove  come 

From  yon  far  haven  of  our  hearts, 

To  bring  us  news  from  Home  ! 
74 


CHRIST  AND  MY  HEART. 

Love,  mightier  than  death  itself! 

Thy  dove  of  peace  hath  crossed 
The  floods,  to  nestle  in  the  heart 

That  once  was  tempest-tossed. 

Dear  Father's  house,  where  Jesus  waits, 

Thy  glory  brightens  fast ! 
Oh,  bells  of  heaven,  ring  for  us 

Safe  Home  with  Christ  at  last ! 


CHRIST    AND    MY    HEART. 

I'm  weak — so  weak,  an  infant's  clasp 
Is  mightier  than  mine  to-night. 
I  fear  I  ne'er  have  held  aright 

The  Cross  I  vainly  strive  to  grasp. 

I'm  like  a  reed  swayed  by  the  blast ! 

Ah,  sorrow's  angel,  sad  and  stern, 

Must  school  the  heart  so  slow  to  learn  \ 

How  long,  Lord,  must  the  battle  last  ? 
75 


% 


b> 


N<  A 


l^ 


CHRIST  AND  MY  HEART. 

And  yet  I  shrink,  with  sudden  chill, 
From  threatened  discipline  of  loss — 
My  nerveless  hands  unclasp  this  cross. 

Hopeless,  I  suffer  and  lie  still. 

Until  a  touch  of  angel  wings, 
Or  dearer  still,  my  mother's  kiss, 
Brings  near  a  sense  of  Heaven's  bliss, 

With  longings  deep  for  holy  things. 

Dear,  patient,  interceding  Lord, 
My  Saviour  loving  after  death, 
Thy  heart  of  pleading  pity  saith 

Through  every  opening  wound  outpoured 

"  Oh,  child,  so  ready  to  mistrust 

The  love  that  knows  no  end  or  bound, 
Must  thou  into  mine  every  wound 
Thy  hand  so  unbelieving  thrust  ? 

<4  What  need  hast  thou  of  doubt  and  fear? 

Those  weapons  are  my  foe's,  not  mine. 

Glad  hope  and  blessed  trust  be  thine, 

And  not  the  mocking  soldier's  spear. 
76 


«              KA< 

-      '    .    B- 

\ 

-      -- 

It 

CHRIST  AND  MY  HEART. 

"  Poor  trembling  child  !     I  know  how  weak 

Is  mortal  flesh  ;  for  every  stroke 

That  smites  thee,  on  thy  Saviour  broke, 

Before  it  touched  thy  shrinking  cheek. 

"  And  yet  so  fearful  still  thou  art, 

When  to  unlock  thy  earthward  grasp 

I  touch,  with  pierced  hand  to  clasp 

Thee  only  nearer  to  my  heart !  " 

0  soul,  so  slow  to  hear,  so  dumb, 

Unanswering  to  each  tender  word  ! 

At  last  thy  deepest  heart  is  stirred — 

"  Dear  Saviour,  as  a  child  I  come  ! 

"  No  longer  with  a  hireling's  dread, 

I  run  to  rest  within  Thine  arms. 

Life's  fiercest  storms  can  never  harm 

My  safely,  sweetly  sheltered  head. 

"  Thy  love,  not  mine,  Thy  hold  so  strong, 

And  not  my  wavering  clasp,  make  sure 

My  safety.     I  can  stand  secure, 

Although  the  strife  be  hard  and  long." 

77 

f* 


FLOWERS  FOR   THE  BABY'S  FEET. 

FLOWERS    FOR    THE    BABY'S    FEET. 

Oh,  dimpled  baby  feet  that  never,  never  more 

Shall  make  their  happy  music,  pattering  on  the  floor  ; 

Oh,  blessed  little  feet  that  shall  not  go  astray, 

Nor  ever  learn  to  falter  on  this  earthly  way  ; 

The  Saviour  is  more  precious,  heaven  more  real  and  sweet, 

Since  through  the  gates  of  death  have  passed  those  baby  feet, 

Dear,  dainty  waxen  house,  where  for  a  little  while 
The  baby  dwelt,  and  blessed  us  with  her  sunny  smile  ! 
Close  to  our  hearts  in  life  we  held  her  safe  and  warm, 
How  can  we  leave  her  now,  to  winter  winds  and  storm  ? 
Ah,  friends  !  be  not  afraid,  He'll  guard  this  treasure  too, 
Safe  is  the  keeping  of  the  Lord  who  died  for  you. 

Oh,  empty  arms  and  heart !  poor  heart  that  still  must  ache, 
The  sweet  incentive  missing — "for  the  baby's  sake." 
God  bade  your  darling  teach  you  lessons  sweet  to  learn, — 
Himself  is  teacher  now,  when  chastening  seems  stern. 
To  His  own  heart  He'll  hold  your  eyes  with  weeping  dim, 

L'ntil  you  learn  'tis  sweeter  far  to  live  for  Him. 

73 


N 

"THE  LORD  OUR  HELPER." 

Lone  mother-love  that  hovers  o'er  this  empty  nest, 

* 

Look  up  !  your  Saviour's  arms  have  clasped  her  to  His  breast. 

He'll  give  her  back  to  you,  in  fairer  beauty  bright ; 

When  dawns  the  glad  new  day  that  never  has  a  night ! 

In  sure  and  certain  hope,  we  lay  earth's  flowers  sweet, 

Until  the  resurrection,  at  your  baby's  feet. 

"THE     LORD     OUR     HELPER." 

''''Without  me  ye  can  do  nothing."  — John  xv.  5. 

Nothing  without  Thee,  blessed  Lord, 

But  with  Thine  arm  of  might 

Clasped  close  around  me,  shield  and  sword, 

I  put  my  foes  to  flight. 

It  is  not  pride  that  makes  its  boast 

In  Thine  almightiness  ; 

For  when  I  own  Thy  power  most, 

My  weakness  I  confess. 

Nor  is  it  that  there  is  for  me 

The  faintest  right  to  seek 

79 

f  <,  - 


"FOST  TENEBRAS  LUX." 

The  strength  of  Him  who  loves  to  be 
A  Helper  of  the  weak  ; 

But  only  for  His  mercy's  sake, 
And  with  my  earnest  plea, 
"  I  am  oppressed,  oh,  undertake 
And  plead  my  cause  for  me  !  " 

For  He  is  strong  to  save  and  hold, 

And  with  each  daily  test 
The  arm  which  makes  me  glad  and  bold 

Still  gives  me  sweetest  rest. 


"POST    TENEBRAS    LUX!" 

44  God  is  the  Lord,  which  hath  shewed  us  light.'''' — Ps.  cxviii.  27. 

It  is  His  way,  and  so  it  must  be  right ; 

Although  at  every  step  some  foot  that  bleeds 

Leaves  print  of  anguish,  still  our  Father  leads 
Through  darkness  unto  light. 
So  dark  it  seems  !     We  long  for  break  of  day  ; 

We  know  not  Jesus  on  the  midnight  flood. 

Ah  !  once  He  trod  the  path  of  woe  and  blood, 

His  solitary  way  ! 
80 


if 


" POST  TENEBRA  S  L  UX. " 

And  yet  that  path  of  deepest  gloom  and  woe 
Led  up  to  glory,  greater  for  the  Cross, 
To  which  He  bowed  in  lifelong  want  and  loss, 
With  "  Father,  even  so  !  " 
For  midnight  darkness  often  bears  within 

Its  baffling  blackness  germs  of  Heaven's  light ; 
God's  holiness  is  not  one  ray  less  bright 
For  all  this  dark  world's  sin. 

He  holds  us  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand. 
And  gives  us  light  as  we  can  bear  it  now  ; 
His  glory's  shadow  upon  Moses'  brow 
Was  brightness  far  too  grand 
For  sinful  Israel's  eyes  to  look  upon  ; 

Yet  those  whose  patient  hearts  seek  daily  strength, 
Shall  surely  have  the  eagle's  wings  at  length, 
To  mount  toward  the  Sun. 

And  eagle's  vision,  clear  and  bright  and  strong, 

E'en  here  is  given  those  whose  hearts  are  pure , 

They,  seeing  Him  invisible,  endure, 

Although  the  way  be  long. 
81 


I 


"POST  TENEBRAS  LUX." 

To  them  a  light  ariseth,  and  the  day, 
Hid  from  Egyptian  eyes  by  dark  eclipse, 
Shines  bright  as  noon,  and  on  their  trustful  lips 
Wakes  praises  while  they  pray. 

And  so  Ave  need  no  longer  vainly  grope, 

Moaning  the  poet's  death-cry,  "  Light,  more  light  !  " 
We  need  not  earth's  dark-lanterns,  for  the  night 
Is  brilliant  with  the  hope 
Of  fairer  day-dawn  than  e'er  blessed  the  Hills 
Of  God  around  Jerusalem  of  old. 
Ay  !  while  we  watch  the  East,  a  flush  of  gold 
The  glad  horizon  fills. 

For  God  is  Light  itself,  in  Him  we  know, 
There  is  no  darkness,  and  when  we  at  last 
Dwell  in  Him  truly,  darkness  shall  be  past, 
And  life  be  all  aglow. 

Oh,  Christian  !  as  the  bird  that  sings  at  night, 
Or  as  the  bird  that  God  has  taught  to  wait 
Until  the  day-break — sing  at  Heaven's  Gate, 

"  For  after  Darkness,  Light !  " 

82 


'SURELY  I  COME  QUICKLY." 


"  SURELY    I    COME    QUICKLY." 
rev.   xxii.   30. 

At  even,  or  at  midnight,  or  at  the  cock-crowing,  or  in  the  morning! 

— St.  Mark  xiii.  35. 

O  Soldiers  of  the  Lord  of  hosts  ! 

How  can  we  fight  so  feebly,  when 
We  hear  the  glad  exulting  shout, 

"  He  comes  unto  His  own  again  !  " 

He  cometh  !     Whether  just  at  eve, 
When  purple  glory  crowns  the  west, 

Or  in  the  midnight's  deepest  gloom, 
We  know  His  time  is  always  best. 

Though  in  the  flush  of  early  dawn 
He  calls,  and  from  our  aching  eyes 

Our  best  beloved  pass  away 
Into  the  light  of  Paradise — 

Ah  !  well  it  is  for  them,  for  us, 

So  but  the  Master's  work  be  done— 

For  us,  still  panting  in  the  heat 

Of  life's  long  battle  sorely  won  ; 
83 


"SURELY  I  COME  QUICKLY:' 

And  well,  most  surely  well,  for  those 
Young  soldiers,  who  with  fearless  eye 

Waited  their  unseen  Captain's  word, 
Ready  alike  to  do  or  die. 

Well  !  though  the  bugle  blast  of  Fame 
Shall  never  speak  their  grand  renown  ; 

Well !  though  the  slumbering  world  knows  not 
Their  early  victory  and  crown. 

For  eastern  light  and  sunset  glow 

Are  but  His  heralds  on  the  hills 
Around  this  valley-life  of  ours, 

With  all  its  deathly  damps  and  chills. 

Up  !  for  the  Lord  of  glory  comes 
Down  from  the  city's  golden  street ; 

And  on  the  shining  hills  afar 
How  beautiful  appear  His  feet ! 

Ay,  once  again  your  sacred  heights, 

O  hills  of  God  !  His  feet  shall  press; 
And  He  shall  set  the  ransomed  free 

From  every  weight  and  weariness. 

84 


'DISCOURAGED  BECAUSE  OF  THE  WAY: 

Oh,  quickly  come,  our  Lord  and  Love ! 

Weary  we  are,  and  yet  at  rest ; 
For  in  Thy  answer,  "  Lo,  I  come  !  " 
'    Our  longing,  trusting  hearts  are  blest. 


"DISCOURAGED    BECAUSE    OF   THE   WAY.' 

NUMBERS    Xxi.    4. 

Poor,  weary,  murmuring  soul 
Longing  in  secret  for  the  Lord's  release, 
Impatient  for  thy  pilgrimage  to  cease, 

While  yet  far  from  the  goal, 

This  strengthening  word  of  cheer — 
A  sunbeam  gladdening  earth's  desert-waste, 
"  He  that  believes  on  me  shall  not  make  haste  " — 
Falls  on  thy  listening  ear. 

Earth's  laborers  may  repine 
When  tardy  nightfall  lengthens  out  the  day  ; 
Their  weary  eyes  may  chide  the  long  delay, 

But,  oh,  my  soul !  not  thine. 
85 


"DISCOURAGED  BECAUSE  OF  THE  WAY." 

They  may  despond,  but  thou, 
The  servant,  nay,  the  child  of  God,  the  heir 
Of  glory  everlasting,  shouldst  thou  wear 

Such  gloom  upon  thy  brow  ? 

Thy  wistful  glances  trace 
The  nearer  path  to  Heaven  which  some  have  trod — 
The  path  baptized  by  their  tears  and  blood, 

Who  ran  the  martyr's  race. 

And  couldst  thou  fearless  drink 
That  cup  of  mortal  agony  and  woe  ; 
'Neath  the  dread  terror  of  the  sev'ring  blow 

Would  flesh  nor  spirit  shrink  ? 

Presumptuous,  sinful  thought  ! 
E'en  now  thou  faintest,  when  thine  eager  lips 
Find  sorrow  in  joy's  cup.     One  hour's  eclipse 

Of  light  to  thee  is  fraught 

With  sorrow  and  dismay  ; 

And  couldst  thou  walk  serene  through  Death's  dark  vale, 

Would  not  thy  footsteps  falter,  spirit  fail, 

Without  one  cheering  ray  ? 
86 


UP   TO  THE  HILLS. 

Nay  !     Leave  to  God,  all-wise, 
The  ordering  of  thy  path.     Be  thine  alone 
The  earnest  care  to  walk  as  He  hath  shown, 

With  heaven-directed  eyes  ! 

Firm  to  the  end,  endure  ! 
Seest  not  the  glorious  crown  hung  at  the  goal? 
Fear  not !     In  patient  strength  possess  thy  soul 

God's  promise  standeth  sure  ! 


-r^ 


UP    TO    THE    HILLS. 

Up  to  the  hills  I  lift  my  longing  eyes — 

Unto  the  hills  aglow  with  sunset  light. 
There  purpling  amethyst  and  ruby  dyes 

Half  veil  the  golden  glory  on  the  height. 
It  is  a  pictured  gleam  of  Paradise, 

Where  saints  might  walk  in  robes  of  dazzling  white. 

Down  in  the  valley,  where  the  vapors  cling, 

Full  redly  shines  the  sun  through  lurid  mist — 

A  Samson,  shrinking  evermore  to  fling 

The  soft  Delilah  who  his  brows  had  kissed, 
S7 


% 


UP   TO   THE  HILLS. 

And  with  her  flower-scented  breath  of  spring 
Had  shorn  him  of  his  strength  before  he  wist. 

Deep-rifted  rocks  are  there,  and  denser  shades, 
Where  scarlet  cardinals  uprear  their  cloven  bells  ; 

And  aromatic  fragrance  'mid  the  glades, 

Deep -strewn  with  last  year's  leaves,  forever  dwells. 

There  violets  live  and  die — the  wind-flower  fades, 
Soft-tinted  with  the  flush  of  sea-shore  shells. 

Too  cool,  too  dense,  with  sweet  decay  too  rife — 

Too  full  of  memories,  of  fond  regret. 
They  who  toil  upward  toward  the  goal  of  life 

Each  lower,  lesser  purpose  must  forget : 
He  who  would  be  a  victor  in  the  strife 

Must  early  brush  the  tears  from  eyelids  wet. 

Oh,  far-off  hill-top,  in  the  crimson  west, 

Encrowned  by  the  sunset's  diadem  ! 
The  clouds  that  hover  o'er  thy  swelling  crest 

Might  be  the  fringes  on  the  curtain's  hem  ; 
Beyond  which  doth  the  true  Shekinah  rest, 

In  the  New  Temple  at  Jerusalem. 


MY  MITHER. 

And  thus  I  turn  my  longing  eyes  to  thee, 

Thou  fair  Evangel !  in  whose  glowing  light — 

Faint  image  of  the  glory  yet  to  be — 

I  trace  the  promise  every  eve  more  bright  : 

One  day  I  shall  the  greater  glory  see, 

And  walk  with  Jesus  clad  in  spotless  white. 


MY    MITHER. 

I've  wearied  for  ye,  oh  sae  sair,  my  mither,  mither  dear, 
An'  in  this  simmer  gloaming,  I've  been  dreamin'  ye  were  here. 
Aince  mair  I  felt  your  tender  han'  laid  lichtly  on  my  cheek, 
An'  a'maist  choked  a  sob  o'  joy  to  wait  gin  ye  wad  speak. 

But  never,  never,  never  mair,  shall  ye  touch  cheek  o'  mine, 
Oh  mither,  mither  ta'en  awa  frae  us  yon  sad  Lang  Syne. 
It  gars  my  heart  beat  like  to  break  to  min'  me  o'  the  blow 
That  crushed  sairlymony  hearts  when  ye  were  lain  sae  low. 

An'  yet  He  lo'ed  us  tho'  He  smote,  an'  after-whiles  I  ken 

The  tender  mercy  o'  the  Han'  that  took  ye  frae  us  then. 

89 


MY  Ml THE R. 

He  did  it — aye  our  mither's  God,  His  will  maun  be  the  best  ; 
To  us  He  gave  the  lanely  road,  to  her  He  gave  the  rest. 

Nae  langer  cries  my  rebel  heart  that  ye  went  Hame  too  sune, 
Frae  kirk-yard  graves  I  lift  my  head  unto  the  stars  abune  ; 
E'en  tho'  your  winsome  Robin's  head  rests  not  beside  you  here. 
He's  wi'  ye  evermair  in  Heaven,  oh  mither,  mither  dear ! 

The  bonny  Hame  we  luved  weel,  is  Hame  to  us  nae  mair, 
But  a'  its  memories  are  oors,  sae  tender  sweet  tho'  sail*. 
Her  footfa's  wander  saft  an*  licht,  as  shadows  on  the  floor, 
An'  still  I  dream  she  Stan's  o'  nicht  beside  the  nursery  door  \ 

Aince  mair  she  gies  the  Gude-nicht  kiss  !     Oh  Dreamer,  ye 

maun  waken. 
Lang  years  maun  pruve  His  better  luve,  Wha  dearest  anes 

has  taken. 
Sin'  up  to  Heaven  rins  ilka  road,  unthocht  o'  an'  unkenn'd, 
Whaur  gae  her  bairns  wi'  Him   alane  Wha  kens  baith   path 

an'  end. 

Oh  mither  gane  to  God  sae  sune !  Wha's  faith  gar'd  michty  claim 

On  His  gude  promise  for  her  bairns  thro'  Christ  the  Savior's 

name ; 

90 


MY  GUEST. 

When  to  His  fauld  the  Shepherd  brings  His  flock  at  fa'  o' 

nicht, 
Will  she  na  ken  her  ain  again,  in  yon  fair  fields  o'  licht  ? 


MY     GUEST 


If  any  man  hear  my  voice,  and  open  the  door,  I  will  come  in  to  him,  and  will 
sup  with  him,  and  he  with  me." — Rev.  iii.  20. 

I  have  a  wondrous  guest, 
Who  speeds  my  feet,  who  moves  my  hands, 
Who  strengthens,  comforts,  guides,  commands, 

WThose  presence  gives  me  rest. 

He  dwells  within  my  soul ; 
He  swept  away  the  filth  and  gloom, 
He  garnished  fair  the  empty  room, 

And  occupies  the  whole. 

For  aye  by  day  and  night, 
He  keeps  the  portal,  suffers  naught 
91 


MY  GUEST. 

Defile  the  temple  He  has  bought, 
And  filled  with  joy  and  light. 

Regenerate  by  His  grace, 
Still  'tis  a  meager  inn  at  best, 
For  heaven's  King  to  make  His  rest, 

And  show  His  glorious  face. 

Yet,  Saviour,  ne'er  depart 
From  this  poor  earthly  cottage  home, 
Until  the  Father  bid  me  come, 

Whisp'ring  within  my  heart : 

"  I  shake  these  cottage  walls  ; 
Fear  not :  at  my  command  they  bow  ; 
My  heavenly  mansions  open  now, 

As  this  poor  dwelling  falls." 


Then  my  dear  wondrous  guest 

Shall  bear  me  in  His  own  right  hand 

Unto  that  far-off  Promised  Land, 

Where  I  in  Him  shall  rest. 
92 


THE  PA  TIENCE  OF  THE  LORD. 


THE  PATIENCE   OF  THE   LORD. 

"Account  that  the   long-suffering  of  our   Lord  is  salvation" 

Ye  will  not,  will  not  come  !     Oh,  slow  of  heart  and  blind, 
No  more  you  heed  His  message  than  the  whistling  of  the  wind. 
Ah,  know  you  there  is  nothing  between  you  and  the  sword 
Of  justice  trembling  o'er  you,  save  the  patience  of  the  Lord  ? 


For  you  there  is  no  beauty  in  the  face  the  soldiers  marred, 
You  can  see  no  crown  of  glory  on  the  brow  the  thorns  have 

scarred  ; 
But  the  hour  will  surely  come  when  the  day  of  grace  must  end, 
And  the  sinner  stand  in  judgment,  before  his  patient  friend. 


My  brothers  and  my  sisters,  how  long  will  you  refuse 
Eternal  life  through  Jesus,  while  the   death  of  deaths  you 

choose  ? 
Why  trample  on  His  warnings  and  put  His  love  to  scorn 
Who  has  been  so  patient  with  you  since  the  day  when  you 

were  born  ? 

93 


THE  PA  TIENCE  OF  THE  LORD. 

You   have  left  your  Father's  house  because  you  would  not 

hold 
In  your  hearts  the  thought  of  Him,  while  you  wasted  life  and 

gold. 
If  God  had  so  forgotten  you  but  for  a  moment's  space, 
Long  since  you  would  have  drifted  beyond  this  word  of  grace. 

Ah  !  they  smile  on  in  their  sleep,  till  our  hearts  are  like  to 

break ! 
Oh,  free  Almighty  Spirit,  wilt  Thou  bid  their  souls  awake, 
Whether  by  silent  touch,  or  by  an  earthquake  shock 
That  shall  rend  the  hearts  of  pride  like  the  rending  of  a  rock. 

Open  wide  their  darkened  souls  that  the  truth  may  enter  in, 
And  give  to  them  a  hatred  of  the  work  and  ways  of  sin  ; 
And  touch  their  blinded  eyes,  that  they  by  faith  may  see 
One  hanging  for  their  sins  upon  the  cursed  tree. 

Long,  long  our  Lord  has  waited,  for  this  blessed  word  is  true. 

"His  long-suffering  is  salvation."     Oh,  let  it  be  for  you — 

And  for  every  one  that  heareth  ;  ah,  what  remorse  and  pain 

Must  be  yours  if  you  are  willing  that  His  grace  should  be  in 

vain. 

94 


1±£ 


BABY  ANNIE. 

Xo  power  but  His  Spirit  can  change  a  heart  of  stone, 
But  I  can  not  hold  my  peace,  for  my  need  was  like  your  own  ; 
And  no  prodigal  that  cometh  shall  e'er  be  turned  away, 
Though  by  night  he  comes  to  Jesus  while  others  come  by  day. 

Oh,  hearts  once  warm  and  tender  that  now  are  hard  and  cold, 
Hearts  that  have  grown  a-weary  in  wandering  from  the  fold, 
Here's  shelter  from  the  whirlwind.     Run  to  it  and  abide, 
For  He  calls  you  now  to  enter,  while  the  door  is  open  wide. 

The  Lord  who  died  for  sinners,  aye  saves  them  through  and 

through  ; 
In  the  Holiest  of  Holies  He  is  pleading  now  for  you, 
And  the  pierced  Hand  that  hinders  the  falling  of  the  sword, 
Gives  us  safety  everlasting  through  the  patience  of  the  Lord  ! 


i 


BABY     ANNIE. 

"  My  beloved  is  gone  down  into  His  garden  .  ...  to  gather  lilies" 

Oh,  baby,  in  thy  dreamless  rest, 

So  like  a  fair  day-lily  lying, 

With  valley-lilies  on  thy  breast, 

Thou  art  beyond  the  sound  of  crying  ! — 
95 


BABY  ANNIE. 

And  yet  we  walk  in  softness,  lest 

We  break  God's  hush  by  earthly  sighing. 

Her  little  life  was  like  a  gleam 

Of  sunlight  from  its  glad  beginning, 

And  pain  was  but  a  passing  dream, 
As  shadowy  to  her,  as  sinning  : 

And  lovingness  in  her  did  seem 
The  way  she  had  to  be  so  winning. 

Dear  Saviour,  ever  'tis  of  such 

Thou  dost  into  Thy  Kingdom  gather ; 

Thou  welcomest  their  fearless  touch, 
Than  homage  of  the  rulers  rather. 

We  loved  her,  Lord — say  not,  too  much. 
We  sob,  "  Thy  will  be  done,  our  Father ! 

We  love  Thee,  Lord  of  Paradise, 

We  go  to  Thee  for  peace  and  pardon  ; — 

And  yet  we  mark,  with  sad  surprise, 

Thee  when  Thou  walkest  in  Thy  garden. 

Breaking  our  lily  'neath  our  eyes  ! 

Oh,  suffer  not  our  hearts  to  harden  ! 
96 


K&f 


BAB  Y  ANNIE. 

Poor  mother-heart,  too  faint  and  sore 
To  rise  like  David  from  such  sorrow  ! 

Yet  open  wide  your  darkened  door 

And  comfort  from  God's  sunlight  borrow. 

Christ  died,  and  lives  forevermore, 

Trust  Him  for  strength  for  each  to-morrow  ! 

God  knows  !     He  gave  His  only  One, 
From  heart  of  love  far  deeper,  vaster. 

And  tears  less  bitterly  will  run, — 

Although  sometimes  they  flow  the  faster, — 

When  in  the  Father's  yielded  Son 
We  see  our  bleeding,  loving  Master. 


*i 


He  knows  the  heart  will  ache  and  bleed 
With  sense  of  want  and  loss  still  deeper  ; 

A  baby's  memory  must  need 
Transform  a  singer  to  a  weeper. 

Who  weeping  sows  the  precious  seed, 
Shall  come  again  a  joyful  reaper." 

Oh,  take  the  hope  God  gives  in  this  ! 

Grief  meekly  borne  must  yield  you  sweetness. 
97 


^A 


* 


MISSING. 

The  baby-lips  you  can  not  kiss 

Wait  for  you  still  in  Heaven's  completeness  ; 
And  He  who  takes  your  present  bliss, 

But  works  for  both  a  fuller  meetness. 


MISSING 


In   the  little,   low,  vine-covered   porch,  half  dreaming,  sits 
Mabel,  the  maiden, 
And  sings  to  her  heart  the  old  music — his  farewell  (oh, 
where  is  he  now?): 
"  Blue  eyes  true  and  tender,  brown  curls  glinted  gold  by 
love's  halo  they  played  in, 
Be  true  to  your  colors  !     Beloved,  chase  shadow  from  heart 
and  from  brow." 

Oh,  blithe,  trusting  heart,  recking  naught  of  the  future,  but 

resting  so  wholly 

In  memory  sad  of  the  parting,  in  hope  of  the  meeting  so 

sweet ! 

98 


\£ 

^■"s 

\ 

•ri>  s 

7 

7\ 

MISSING. 

"  No  shadow !  "  she  singeth  ;   yet  ever  the  Shadow  creeps 

.. 

surely  and  slowly; 

Ah !  near  and  yet  nearer  ;  now  flinging  its  gloom  o'er  the 

sunny  old  street. 

41  The  postman — a  letter  !   a  letter  !  "     "  No,  lady,  but  news 

of  a  battle — 

Sad  news  for  my  poor  wife — our  boy  !     His  name's  in  the 

list  of  the  killed. 

Our  brave  fellows  fell  where  they  fought,  gained   nothing, 

were  slaughtered  like  cattle." 

"  God  help  you !  "  she  prayed,  as  she  stood  in  the  Shadow, 

bewildered  and  chilled. 

*'  Full  list  of  the  wounded  and  dead."     Ah!    see  how  her 

white  fingers  falter 

In  eagerness,  dread,  and  suspense.     Poor  heart,  throbbing 

wildly  with  fear  ; 

Blue  eyes  that  grow  dim  as  they  glance  at  the  name  of  some 

other  one's  Walter, 

With  a  full-hearted  sigh  and  a  sob,  "  Thank  God  that  bis 

name  is  not  here  !  " 

99 

A 


MISSING. 


Ay,  bless  God  for  that,  in  the  hush  of  deep  sympathy,  tender 
and  solemn, 
For  those  whose  poor  hearts  had  been  broken  o'er  words 
which  she  hastily  read  ; 
Then,   fearlessly   turning   the   paper,   she    sees   in    the  very 
next  column 
"  The   missing,   supposed    to  be  left   on   the  field,  badly 
wounded  or  dead." 

Great  God  !    are   such   shuddering  heart-cries  the  price  of 
a  warrior's  glory  ? 
"  Oh,   Walter  !    my  Walter !    none  other's,   my  only  one, 
tender  and  brave  !  " 
The  battle-field  flashes  before  her.     Dark   Night,  hide  the 
vision  so  gory  ! 
She  sees  him  alone  in  his  anguish — she  far  away,  helpless 
to  save. 


"  It   is  bitter,  too  bitter  :   O  Father  !    have  pity  ;  I  still   am 
Thy  creature, 
Yet   cannot   look  onward   or  upward.     Is  heart-breaking 
agony  wrong?  " 


MISSING. 


t 


Dear  Saviour,  who  knowest  our  griefs,  in  Thine  infinite  ten- 
derness reach  her 
Gethsemane's  might  and  its  meekness,  to  suffer,  be  still, 
and  be  strong  ! 

Young  Life,  with  thy  diadem  royal,  the  crown  of  a  love  true 
and  tender, 
The  joy  of  thy  day-dawn  has  perished,  the  glory  of  sunset 
has  passed  ; 
Love's  banner  is  trailing  in  ashes  ;  like  a  mirage  has  vanished 
its  splendor  ; 
For  "  missing  "  is  everywhere  written.     The  Shadow  has 
fallen  at  last. 

Some  murmur,  "  He  was  but  a  private  !  "     Ah  !  well,  to  the 
Master  up  yonder, 
The  soul  of  a  private  is  precious  as  that  of  commander- 
in-chief  ; 
And  the  mightiest  monarch  on  earth  never  knew  a  love  truer 
and  fonder 
Than  that  of  the  woman  who  wrestles  all  night  with  the 
angel  of  grief. 


^4— 


i 


MISSING. 


M  He   died  for  his  country,"  friends  whisper ;    "  and  sweet 
are  his  slumbers,  unbroken 
By  footfall  of  friend  or  of  foe,  or  the  dash  and  the  moan 
of  the  waves. 
Heart-violets   spring   from    his   ashes,   and    tenderest  words 
ever  spoken 
Are  breathed  o'er  the  hero  hearts  resting  afar  from  their 
ancestors'  graves." 

Ah  !  yes  ;  but  the  heart  smitten  sorest  is  mute  amid  noisier 
sorrow, 
Unheeding  the  wail  of   the  nation  beside  every  patriot's 
tomb. 
Oh  !   leave  her,  I  pray  you  in  pity,  alone  with  her  dead  till 
to-morrow, 
To  bury  with  him  the  sweet  flowers  that  never  more  here 
are  to  bloom. 

Heaven  send  her  its  comfort !     The  angel  whose  light  touch 
so  swiftly  doth  alter 
The  full-chorded   music  of  life   to  a   monody  thrillingly 
sad, 


. k£ 

MY  HEART'S  AE  DEARIE. 

Yet   holds   the  mute   heart-strings  unbroken.      Faith   looks 
up  and  whispers,  "  Oh,  Walter, 
You  will  not  be  missing  forever !    For  that  I  bless  God  and 
am  glad." 

MY    HEART'S    AE    DEARIE. 

I  maunna,  daurna  guess  his  name, — 

I  dinna  even  ken  his  hame, 
Or  if  he's  thro'  the  wide  warld  roaming  ; 

Yet  aft,  upo'  the  whisp'rin'  wind, 

I  hear  his  voice,  sae  blithe  an'  kind, 
As  he  comes  singin'  thro'  the  gloaming. 

Oh,  dinna  think  I'll  gar  him  wait, 

Wi'  doubtfu'  han'  upo'  the  gate, 
While  speirin',  is  he  Jock  ?  or  Johnnie  ? 

Na,  na  !     My  heart  will  surely  ken 

Him  'maingst  a  thousan'  ither  men, 
Howe'er  ye  ca'  them  braw  an'  bonny. 

I'll  ken  him, — as  ye  wad  a  king  ; — 

Oh,  not  by  croun,  or  robe,  or  ring, 

But  maistly  by  his  royal  bearing  ; 
103 


f*r 


MY  HEARTS  AE  DEARIE. 

I'll  ken  him  by  his  soul  sae  gran', 
An'  by  his  leal  an'  gen'rous  han', 
An'  by  his  heart  for  ithers  caring. 

I'll  ken  him  by  his  blessed  e'en, 
The  brawest  that  were  ever  seen, 

As  on  me  shine  they  aye  sae  clearly  ; 
I'll  ken  him  by  his  brow  that's  fu' 
O'  thocht,  an'  by  his  winsome  mou', — 

I'll  ken  him,  for  I'll  lo'e  him  dearly. 

I'll  ken  his  coming,  by  the  beat 

O'  heart  an'  pulse,  when  thro'  the  street 
I  hear  his  whistlin'  or  his  singing  ; 

Thro'  tramping  hosts  I'd  hear  ae  word, 

An'  mair  by  it  wad  I  be  stirred 
Than  tho'  the  warld's  big  bells  were  ringing. 

His  gude  richt  arm  will  be  my  shield 

An'  in  his  heart  I'll  mak'  my  bield, 

Doun,  doun  sae  deep,  nae  fr'en'  nor  brither 

The  gowden  treasure-house  may  see, 
104 


^ 


SEA  SPRAY. 

Whilk  God  has  keepit  safe  for  me, 
For  me  alane, — not  for  anither  ! 

God  keep  him  !  for  I'll  lo'e  him  weel, 
This  lad  o'  mine, — to  Heaven  leal, 

An'  tender  to  the  puir  an'  lanely, 

Sae  brave  o'  heart  to  richt  the  wrang, — 
Ah,  will  he  ever  ken  the  sang 

I'm  singin'  noo,  aboot  him  ainly  ! 


SEA     SPRAY 


At  sunset  of  October  day — 

The  royal  Autumn's  crown — 

In  happy  dreaminess  I  lay, 

Unheeding  whether  golden  gray 

Were  gray  or  gloaming  brown  ; 

For,  through  the  darkened  hall,  a  gleam 

Shot  from  the  western  sky, 

And  bore  upon  its  rosy  beam- 

Unto  my  heart  the  mem'ried  dream 

Of  summer  days  gone  by. 
105 


f 


SEA  SPRAY. 

Soft  inland  murmurs,  tender,  sweet, 
Lulling  like  household  words, 

My  half-unconscious  senses  greet, 
The  song  of  many  birds, — 

The  silvery  cadence  of  the  fall, 
The  brooklet's  low-voic'd  singing, 

The  hush  and  silence  over  all, 

As  tho',  through  all  the  gentle  strife, 
The  clash  and  harmony  of  life, — 

The  Sabbath-bells  were  ringing. 

A  cooler  breath — a  dash  of  spray — 

Sweeps  inland  memories  away. 
Afar  I  hear  the  sounding  sea, 

Where  wave  to  wave  replying 
Wakes  ceaseless  anthems  in  the  soul, 
And  surges  o'er  earth's  words  of  dole, 
Writing  anew  a  grander  scroll 
In  ocean-curves  undying. 

Sweet  mystery  of  memory's  might ! 

Once  more  on  Indian  Rock 
1 06 


1±£ 


*l 


SEA  SPRAY. 

Empurpled  in  the  sunset  light, 

I  lie  and  watch  with  hushed  delight 

The  charging  columns,  shock. 
Again — again — they  charge — they  break, 

With  crashing,  thund'rous  boom, 
Dashing  a  battle  wreath  of  spray, 
O'er  Foam  Rock,  rising  granite-gray, 

Immovable  as  doom. 

A  glorying  wonder,  wild,  intense, 

Holds  all  the  soul  in  thrall, 
Driving  the  less  emotions  thence, — 
The  lambs  and  doves  of  earthly  sense — 

While  wave  to  wave  doth  call, 
"  We  are  His  foot-prints  on  the  sea  : 
The  Lord  of  might  and  majesty, 

The  Lord  is  over  all !  " 

With  breathless,  reverential  awe, 

The  soul  drifts  out  to  sea, 
Borne  on  the  all-resistless  flood 

Of  His  infinity. 

Mute,  helpless,  yet  with  praying  hands 
107 


7 


OVER   THE  BORDER. 

Of  anchorage  bereft, 
Until  His  mercy  draws  it,  safe 

Within  The  Rock's  deep  cleft. 
Then,  tho'  the  thundering  billows  sweep 

Away  each  earthly  rest, 
We  know  He  rules  the  raging  deep, 

We  trust  Him,  and  are  blest. 

The  gloom  and  grandeur  o'er  us  roll, 

And  then  such  rapture  steals, 
In  angel  footsteps  o'er  the  soul, 

That  every  spirit  kneels. 
Hidden,  like  Moses,  by  God's  hand, 

We  rest  with  reverent  face. 
Half-veil'd  before  His  majesty, 

Unveil'd  before  His  grace. 


OVER    THE    BORDER. 

My  birdie,  liltin'  i'  your  cage 

Your  blithesome  hurdy-gurdy, 
108 


7\  *• 


OVER   THE  BORDER. 

Yestreen  I  luved  your  bonnie  sang, 
For  Jamie,  wi'  me,  heard  ye. 

But  noo,  oh,  sing  ye  sad  an'  low, 

For  I  am  lanely-hearted, 
Syne  frae  our  hame,  an'  frae  the  Ian', 

The  licht  has  a'  departed. 

I  dinna  care  to  gang  the  noo, 
Whaur  aince  I  gaed  fu'  fainly, 

For  Jamie's  o'er  the  border  gane, 
How  suld  I  na  be  lanely  ! 

Auld  fr'en's  maun  na  be  lichtly  luved, 
An'  tho'  I  had  twa  hunder'd, 

I  could  na  better  thole,  for  lang 
Frae  Jamie  to  be  sundered. 


My  heart  an 

'  ye  are  fain  to  fly  ; — 

Nae  mair 

I'll  be 

your  warder  ; 

Gang,  birdie 

mine, 

an'  wi'  ye  gaes 

My  heart 

across 

the  border. 

< 

109 

St  A 


MA  SSA  CHUSE  TTS. 
"  MASSACHUSETTS."— 1862. 

The  golden  sunshine  gleams  o'er  hill  and  glade  and  wave, 
The  blue  sky  every  eve  is  studded  thick  with  stars. 

Ah,  sunshine  falls  so  brightly  on  a  new-made  grave  ! 
And  God's  blue  banner  ne'er  is  furled  for  our  wars. 

The  summer  came  and  went  among  the  Berkshire  hills, 
Where  weary  watches  kept  true  hearts,  as  brave  as  those 

Whose  throbs  were  hero-marches,  till  the  deathly  chills 
Hushed  heart  and  lip  and  eye  into  a  long  repose. 

But  Charlie  still  was  safe — thank  God  ! — through  many  a  fight , 
At  last  he  wrote  (Ah,  me,  such  strange  and  feeble  strokes !), 

"  Don't  fear  for  me — I'm  wounded,  but  'twill  all  come  right ; 
Our  boys  have  had  tough  work  at  terrible  Fair  Oaks. 

"  Perhaps  when  golden  autumn  sets  the  woods  aflame 
I  may  get  home  to  show  the  tattered  flag  I  bore. 

You'll  have  your  soldier  back — a  trifle  thin  and  lame — 
But  looks  won't  trouble  me  when  I  get  home  once  more  !  " 

Poor  fellow,  brave  and  hopeful,  how  he  stood  the  pain, 

The  torture  all  those  weeks  !     They  brought  him  North  at 

last, 

no 


4 '  MA  SSA  CH  USE  TTS." 

Wild  fe\er  laid  her  crazing  hand  on  heart  and  brain, 
Yet  still  in  pity  bore  him  to  the  happy  Past. 

His  moan,  thro'  heated  days  and  thro'  the  moonlit  nights, 
Was  "  Massachusetts  !    Massachusetts  !     Take  me  there  /" 

Sometimes  he  rushed  in  memory  into  deadly  fights, 

But  always  ended  with  that  pleading,  home-sick  prayer. 

Strange  nurses,  doctors  chilled  by  death  to  seeming  cold, 
Whose  faces  bent  unmoved  o'er  many  a  soldier's  bed, 

By  Charlie  Howard's  cot  were  men  of  gentle  mould, 
And  tender  as  their  mothers',  were  the  words  they  said. 

Yet  still  that  cry,  "  My  home  !  the  hills  !  the  scarlet  trees  ! 

Oh,  only  take  me  there,  before  it  is  too  late  ! . .  . 
Now  bring  a  little  honey  from  my  father's  bees, 

A  little  home-made  bread  upon  a  fair  white  plate  !  " 

No  name  except  the  Saviour's  made  him  still  and  calm  ; 

But  when  we  spoke  of  Jesus,  how  his  dark  eyes  filled, 
As  tho',  above  the  battle,  rose  a  fireside  psalm, 

And  in  the  holy  peace  each  thought  of  strife  were  stilled. 


V/1 


? 


/W£  PATH W A  Y  0'    THE  SEA. 


"  Oh,  Jesus  !     Know  Him  ?     Yes  !     He  is  my  Only  Friend, 
He's  here  beside  me  always."     Then  his  eyes  grew  dim 

With  unshed  tears.     "  He  says  He  loved  unto  the  end. 
I  couldn't  stand  the  waiting,  if  'twasn't  now  for  Him  !  " 

"  He  won't  forsake  you,  Charlie  !  "    How  his  face  grew  bright  \ 
"  He  says  so,  and  I'm  sure"    "  If  even  death  should  come  ? ' 

"  No  matter  !     Tis  the  ending  of  the  long,  long  fight ! 

So  take  me  home  !  "    The  wildness  came  again  with  "  home." 

Poor  shattered  harp,  whose  every  string  was  out  of  tune 
Except  the  one  that  answered  to  the  deathless  Love  ! 

The  earthly  craving  passed  when  Heaven's  higher  boon 
Brought  him  in  gladness  to  the  Hills  and  Home  above. 


THE    PATHWAY    O'    THE    SEA. 

Our  een,  aft  whiles,  are  howden,  Lord, 

Tho'  near  we  are  to  Thee, 

But  maist  o'  a',  we  ken  Thee  not 

By  pathway  o'  the  sea. 
112 


THE  PATHWAY  0'   THE  SEA. 

Oh,  weep  for  them  that  gang  awa', 
An'  let  your  grief  be  sair  ; 

For  twice  yon  sea  has  ta'en  frae  me, 
An'  gies  them  back  nae  mair. 

Aince  mair  to  see  my  darling's  face, 
His  sweet  young  lips  to  kiss  ! 

But  a'  the  years  I  hae  to  live 
Will  never  gie  me  this  ! 

Sae  young  he  was,  dear  Lord,  to  gae 

Yon  stormy  way  alane. 
Alane  ?     O  thou  o'  little  faith, 

The  Lord  was  wi'  His  ain  ! 

In  mercy  Thou  hast  hid  frae  us 
The  knowledge  o'  the  dree, 

Those  fearfu'  hours  facing  death 
Upo'  the  wintry  sea. 

Sae  mony  souls  went  up  to  God 

Yon  awfu'  Sabbath  Day, 

The  stormy  sea  a'maist  might  be 

The  angel's  shining  way. 
113 


3§gk 


«r 


7  HE  PA  THWA  Y  O'   THE  SEA. 

Yet  after  whiles  my  heart  cries  out, 

Abune  my  better  creed, 
Lord  Jesus,  if  Thou  hadst  been  there, 

My  brother  had  na  d'eed  !  " 

Oh,  mind  ye,  faithless,  aching  heart, 

How,  aince  in  raging  storm, 
Upo'  the  waves  o'  Galilee 

He  walked  in  human  form  ; 

An'  in  His  han'  o'  luving  strength 

Held  Peter  safe  frae  death  ; 
Lang  years,  I  ken,  hae  wrought  nae  change 

In  Christ  o'  Nazareth. 

His  voice,  yon  stormy  Sabbath  morn, 
Wrought  peace  frae  deepest  strife, 

An'  He  it  was  who  gi'ed  our  bairn 
A  grander  gift  than  life. 

For  in  His  han'  are  life  an'  death ; 

He  kens  whilk  gift  is  best. 

The  luve  that  "luved  unto  the  end" 

Is  surety  for  the  rest. 
114 


A    WOMAN'S   WORDS. 

Tho'  what  He  does,  like  Peter,  aft 

At  first  we  maunna  ken, 
Yet  sune  the  sweet  hereafter  comes, 

An'  we  shall  know  it  then  ! 

For  aye,  ae  wondrous  word  o'  Thine 
Rings  out  abune  our  dree, 

The  promise  that  in  yonder  Land 
There  shall  be  nae  mair  sea. 


A   WOMAN'S    WORDS. 

Oh,  true  and  steadfast,  tender,  brave, 
Must  be  the  heart  that  rules  my  own  ! 
A  sceptred  sovereign  on  Love's  throne- 
Neither  a  tyrant,  nor  a  slave. 

Though  willful  words  may  linger  still 
On  woman's  lips  unto  the  end, 
A  woman's  heart  must  choose  to  bend 

Before  a  stronger,  loving  will. 
115 


7i 


A    WOMAN'S  WORDS. 

Yet  men  do  say,  "  Tis  very  hard 
Their  free  and  faithful  love  to  win. 
Our  hearts  are  open.     Enter  in  ! 

We  leave  our  castle  all  unbarred  !  " 

An  empty  house  doth  need,  I  grant, 

But  slight  protection.     Good,  my  lords  : 
Hang  o'er  the  entrance-way  your  swords  ; 

Turn  loose  the  dogs  !     This  all  you  want. 

But  we  are  cowards,  dreading  thieves  : 
Our  hidden  pearls  you  count  as  naught : 
And  women  never  can  be  taught 

To  wear  their  hearts  upon  their  sleeves. 

God  made  us  weak,  while  you  are  strong  ; 
We  hide  the  hearts  that  pulse  and  throb, 
And  learn  to  smother  many  a  sob 

Beneath  the  cadence  of  a  song. 

You  call  my  words  unjust  and  cold  ? 

"  Were  mothers  always  tender,  true — 

Were  sisters  pure  and  gentle  too, 

We  men  would  not  be  stern  and  bold." 
116 


A    WOMAN'S   WORDS. 

I  know  it  !     Oh  !  if  Childhood's  faith 
Could  pass  unchallenged  o'er  Life's  field, 
It  might  bring  home  upon  its  shield 

Our  brothers  safe  from  deadly  scath. 

And  yet  it  is  a  nobler  part 

To  guard  with  jealous  love  the  trust 
Your  comrades  trample  in  the  dust, 

And  wear  it  bravely  on  your  heart. 

Oh,  Brothers  !  judge  us  not  amiss  ! 
One  Father  loves  us.     Let  His  clasp 
Make  holy  every  human  grasp, 

And  sacred  every  lover's  kiss. 

First  win,  then  wear.     But  if  the  prize 
Be  deemed  unworthy  toil  and  time, 
Press  upward  unto  goals  sublime, 

With  Heaven's  own  brightness  in  your  eyes. 

God  needs  you.     Oh,  be  noble,  true  ! 

We'll  help  your  battle  with  our  prayers, 

Contented,  though  no  woman  shares 

The  crown  and  palm  awaiting  you. 
117 


^A 


«• 


K 


MELISENDRA. 
MELISENDRA. 

(FROM    THE    SPANISH.) 

Listen,  listen,  Don  Gaiferos  ! 

Bitter  truth  is  hard  to  tell, 
And  a  friend's  unselfish  warning 

Surely  should  be  heeded  well. 

Leave  awhile  the  jousts,  Gaiferos, 
Lest  my  counsel  be  in  vain  ; 

For  my  words  concern  your  honor 
As  a  noble  knight  of  Spain. 

You  are  here  at  ease  in  Paris  ; 

First  at  tournament  and  ball ; 
Melisendra,  far  off,  captive, 

Is  a  woman  after  all. 

Have  I  said  enough,  Gaiferos  ? 

Do  not  try  her  faith  too  long. 

Bluest  blood  in  all  the  kingdom 

Does  not  make  a  woman  strong. 
118 


tit* 


MELISENDRA. 

You  rely  upon  her  honor, 
As  the  daughter  of  a  King  ? 
"  This  year's  birds  may  sing,"  Gaiferos, 
"  Sweeter  than  the  birds  last  spring !  " 

Her  nobility  as  Princess, 

Mark  you,  though  my  words  seem  strange, 
Is  of  later  growth,  and  weaker, 

Than  her  woman's  love  of  change. 

Surely  if  her  heart  once  wavers 

From  its  plighted  faith  to  you, 
All  her  lofty  pride  will  perish  ; — 

For,  unless  the  heart  be  true, 

Royal  birth  might  well  be  basest, 
Spanish  Princess  though  she  be  : 

Dearer  may  prove  Moslem  bondage 
Than  her  Christian  liberty. 

Since  the  Moors,  though  Moors,  are  gallant, 

She  may  find  a  happy  cure 

For  the  light  love  of  the  Christian 

In  the  long  love  of  the  Moor. 
119 


^4 


MELISENDRA. 

Kings  and  courts  may  fashion  statutes, 
But  there  is  no  law  of  Spain  ' 

That  can  bind  a  heart's  allegiance 
To  its  early  faith  again. 

Like  a  mirror,  smooth  and  shining, 

Is  a  woman's  fickle  heart. 
On  its  surface — see  your  image  ! 

But,  my  friend,  when  you  depart, 

Quite  as  surely  the  next  comer 
Wins  as  much  by  passing  look. 

Her  uncertain,  changeful  spirit 
No  abiding  force  will  brook. 

She  is  like  a  crafty  lawyer 
Who  will  for  each  client  draw 

Still  a  new  and  different  meaning 
From  the  same  unaltered  law. 

And  her  memory  is  ever 

Like  the  blue  sea's  changing  face  ; 
120 


k£ 


A  VOICE  FROM  BELLE  ISLE. 

Gayest  bark  that  sails  upon  it 
Leaves  behind  no  path  nor  trace. 

No  more  words  have  I,  Gaiferos. 

Take  my  counsel,  or  too  late 
Bitterly  you  may  remember 

How  I  warned  you  by  my  fate  ! 


A   VOICE    FROM    BELLE    ISLE— 1863, 
"sick,  and  in  prison." 

Poor  Tom's  just  gone  !     I  closed  his  eyes. 

He  died  in  muttering  low  the  text 

That  says,  "They  never  hunger  more." 

I  lie  and  wonder  who'll  go  next. 
So  many  waiting  at  Death's  door — 
To  some  it  opens  Paradise. 

Oh,  help  !  oh,  help  !     We'll  all  go  mad  ! 
The  dreadful,  gnawing  hunger-pain 
Comes  back,  and  with  a  giant's  grasp 
Holds  life  and  reason  in  its  clasp  : 


t±±. 


A  VOICE  FROM  BELLE  ISLE. 

It  works  like  hell-fire  in  the  brain  ; 
If  Death  would  come  we  could  be  glad. 

Once  we  had  friends  and  country  too, 
Did  all  die  starving  ?  tell  me,  Jack  ! 

Where's  mother  ?  where's  the  dear  old  flag  ? 
Hurrah  !  I'll  fight  while  there's  a  rag. 
Off,  boys  !  why  do  you  keep  me  back  ? 
Stand  by  the  old  Red,  White,  and  Blue  ! 

Ah,  is  it  death  ?     I  can  not  see  ! 

I  had  a  dream.     Oh,  help  !     Be  quick  ! 
Come,  mother,  Ruth  !     (Don't  say  I  died 
With  Tom,  poor  Tom  !  dead  by  my  side.) 
Who  says,  "  I  was  in  prison  sick. 
And  yet  ye  came  not  unto  me  ?" 

"  /  was  at/iirst,  and  hungered  too." 
Ah,  then  He  knows  our  agony  ! 

Read,  Jack,  how  cunning  Satan  tried 
To  tempt  Him  !     I'd  be  satisfied 
To  die  ten  deaths,  Jack,  just  to  see 
Our  army  marching  here  for  you ! 


^H 


A  VOICE  FROM  BELLE  ISLE. 

How  many,  Jack,  are  on  the  floor  ? 
Poor  fellows  !     There  is  little  Jim  ! 
How  can  they  starve  a  child  to  death  ? 
Cry,  Jack,  out  loud !     My  dying  breath 
Must  bring  our  boys  to  rescue  him 
And  all  the  thirteen  thousand  more. 

Why  don't  they  come  ?     How  could  we  see 
Them  starving,  prisoned  here  ?     I'd  choke 
At  food  until  I'd  raised  a  band 
Who'd  vow  with  steadfast  heart  and  hand 
To  dare  and  die  until  we'd  broke 
Their  prison-doors  and  set  them  free. 

But,  Jack,  no  matter  !     We  won't  flinch 
From  death  by  starving,  if  the  Lord 
Do  suffer  this.     But  this  I  know  : 
I'd  slay  my  country's  deadly  foe 
In  honest  battle  with  my  sword, 
But  not  in  prison,  inch  by  inch. 

Oh,  Jack,  come  close  !     I'm  going  fast ! 

If  you  get  home  tell  mother  this  : 
123 


w~ 


IN  A  DREAM. 

"  I  died  for  Love  of  Right  and  Truth. 
God  bless  her  and  my  little  Ruth  ! 
Dear  Jack,  give  mother  my  last  kiss. 
Good-bye  !     Our  boys  will  come  at  last !  " 

All's  over  with  that  faint  "  Good-bye  ": 
Oh,  brothers,  comrades,  is  that  all  ? 
His  mute  lips  still  cry  out  of  wrong — 
The  martyr's  wail,  "  How  long,  how  long  ?  " 
And  thrill  us  with  the  trumpet-call, 
"  Help,  help  !  before  the  thousands  die  !  " 


IN     A     DREAM. 

A  wanderer  in  a  wood  once  bent  him  o'er  a  pool  ; 

Up  looked  a  shadowy  face,  his  own,  yet  dark  and  strange  : 
Shuddering,  he  saw  revealed,  in  depths  serene  and  cool, 

The  unguessed  possibilities  of  sin  and  change. 

You  know  I  love  you,  love  you  !     Since  the  sweet  June  day 

When  first  you  told  me,  Ernest,  how  you  cared  for  me, 

My  happy  heart  has  ever  been  too  glad  to  stray, 

Too  satisfied  for  shadow  of  disloyalty. 

124 


IN  A  DREAM. 


Then  why  should  come  this  dream  of  change  and  wandering  ? 

I  tremble  when  I  try  to  tell  it  now  to  you  ; 
"  A  dream  !  "  you  say,  and  smile  at  fears  that  make  me  cling 

The  closer,  praying  God  they  never  may  come  true. 

Yet  listen,  Ernest !     Towards  the  grand  old  chestnut  wood 
That  crowns  the  hill-top— (where,  a  little  while  ago, 

We  walked  in  fair  midsummer,  and  with  clasp'd  hands  stood, 
Watching  the  sunset  with  its  fiery  after-glow) — 

It  seemed  to  me  I  walked  beneath  a  winter  sky, 

The  cold  air  smote  my  cheek,  and  through  my  tingling  veins 

Rushed  sense  of  boundless  being,  and  of  thoughts  so  high, 
As  should  forever  scorn  the  low  world's  loss  and  gains. 

Wrapt  in  the  blessed  surety  of  your  love  and  trust, 

I  thought  that  earth  could  hold  no  other  life  so  sweet ; 

That  sooner  granite  rocks  should  crumble  into  dust, 

Than  my  own  heart,  with  less  of  loyal  love,  should  beat ! 

Then  suddenly  it  seemed  I  stood  in  some  far  land, 

And  all  was  changed,  for  human  love  and  life  looked  mean. 

The  might  of  beauty  gave  me  empire  fair  and  grand, 

And  on  my  forehead  lay  the  circlet  of  a  queen. 

125 


^4_ , . 

IN  A  DREAM. 

No  more  the  frosty,  bracing  breezes  tossed  my  hair, 
But  soft  winds  ever  blowing  from  enchanted  isles  ; 

My  listless  hands  grew  heavy  with  their  selfish  care — 
I  slew  the  hearts  that  loved  me,  with  my  sunny  smiles. 

No  mem'ries  grieved  nor  gladdened  me — I  did  not  care  ! 

A  strong  enchantment  bound  me  ; — once  I  longed  to  weep 
Because  a  rose  was  scentless.     In  that  Lotos  air 

All  human  truth,  and  tenderness  were  put  to  sleep. 

At  last,  one  sunset,  toward  my  palace  strayed  a  child 

Who  sobbed  that  she  was  lost ;  we  could  not  make  her  gay, 

Nor  charm  her  from  her  grief.     She  would  not  be  beguiled 
From  moaning  for  her  home,  and  mother,  far  away. 

Within  my  arms  I  held  her,  till  the  slumbering  thing 

That  used  to  be  my  heart  (I  dreamed  it  had  been  dead  !) 

Stirred  with  a  sense  of  anguish  ;  faint  and  fluttering, 
My  soul  awoke.     Then  suddenly  I  cried  with  dread  : 

'  We  both  have  lost  our  way,  the  little  child  and  I  ! 
A  sadder  wandering  than  hers,  mine  own  has  been. 


126 


K£ 


IN  A  DREAM. 

We  will  go  home  together.     Blessed  memories  lie 

Far,  far  beyond  this  palace  where  I've  reigned  a  queen." 

Out  in  the  starry  night  we  wandered.     Earth  was  cold, 
And  cottage  lights  were  very,  very  far  away. 

So  many  years  it  seemed — I  thought  you  must  be  old, 
And  wondered  if  you'd  know  me,  if  my  hair  were  gray. 

The  little  child  still  led  me ;  she  was  brave  and  good. 

She  sang  about  her  home,  her  mother  and  her  bird, 
Till  suddenly  her  mother  in  the  pathway  stood, 

And  clasped  her  in  her  arms.     I  passed  without  a  -word  ; 

And  then,  I  woke  up  sobbing,  Ernest,  on  your  breast. 

You  thought,  perhaps,  the  east  wind  blew  beneath  the  tree 
And  chilled  me  while  I  slept.     Ah,  dear,  you  never  guessed 

That  even  in  a  dream,  so  faithless  I  could  be  ! 

You  only  smile  and  kiss  me  !     Dearest,  does  it  seem 

Strange  that  the  weird,  unloving  glory  haunts  me  yet  ? 

Hold,  hold  me  to  your  heart  until  that  evil  dream 

Shall  pass  away  forever,  like  an  idle  threat. 

127 


^A 


IN  MEMORIAM.     F.  B.  C. 
IN    MEMORIAM.      F.  B.  C. 

CHANCELLORSVILLE. — 1863. 

Ay  !     Leave  the  Stripes  and  Stars 
Above  him,  with  the  precious  cap  and  sash  ; 
The  mute  mementoes  of  the  battle-crash, 

And  of  a  hero's  scars. 

Rest,  gallant  soldier,  rest ! 
Ennobled  e'en  in  dying  :  Christ's  true  knight 
Is  now  a  king,  in  royal  glory  bright, 

With  "Victor"  on  his  crest. 

And  yet — God  giveth  sleep  : 
No  earthly  victor's  laurels  ever  shed 
A  glory  like  the  halo  round  his  head. 

He  loved  him — should  you  weep  ? 

Say  ye,  "  His  life  is  lost ; 
Our  home's  sweet  comfort,  and  our  crown  of  hope  ?  " 
Nay,  friends  !     His  life  has  now  a  grander  scope: 

A  living  holocaust 

128 


IN  MEMORIAM.    F.  B.  C. 

To  God,  and  Truth,  and  Right. 
It  aye  hath  been  ;  and  if  the  gleaming  coal 
On  God's  own  altar  hath  upborne  the  soul 

In  fiery  chariot  bright, 

'Mid  battle  roar  and  strife  ; 
If  to  the  fearless  soldier,  God's  release 
Came  swiftly  with  the  seal  of  perfect  peace 

Upon  his  earthly  life, 

Ay,  though  it  sorely  crush 
The  hearts  that  clung  to  him — poor  hearts  that  ache, 
With  yearning  sense  of  loss — oh,  for  his  sake 

Each  wail  of  anguish  hush  ! 

And  yet,  ye  well  may  weep, 
As  those  who  mourned  the  holy  martyr  erst, 
On  whose  glad  eyes  Heaven's  waiting  glories  burst, 

Before  "he  fell  asleep." 

A  hero-heart  is  still, 

And  eyes  are  sealed  ;  and  loving  lips  are  mute, 

Which  bore  on  earth  the  Spirit's  golden  fruit. 

But  peace  !     It  was  God's  will. 
129 


-ee 


i 


A  MEMORY. 

And  for  our  precious  land, 
The  land  he  loved,  and  died  for  in  her  need, — 
The  blood  of  heroes  is  the  nation's  seed — 

As  he  stood,  let  us  stand. 

The  Lord  of  hosts  doth  reign. 
He  crowned  your  soldier,  "dying  at  his  guns." 
Oh,  be  the  nation  worthy  of  such  sons — 

The  noble-hearted  slain  ! 

And  so  we  sadly  lay, 
Yet  not  all  sadly,  though  with  tearful  eyes, 
A  little  nameless  flower  where  he  lies, 

And  gently  steal  away. 


A      MEMORY. 

"  Behold  !  your  house  is  left  unto  you  desolate." 

Sad  words  to  write  above  a  home  so  fair  and  sweet ! 

For  still  the  autumn  moonlight  struggles  through  the  gate 

That  opens  with  wide  welcome  no  more  to  my  feet. 

130 


71 

A  MEMORY. 

Like  giant  sentinels  the  lofty  locusts  stand, 

And  on  the  leaf-strewn  lawn  their  spectral  shadows  fling. 
Below,  the  silver  brook,  by  arch  of  moonbeams  spanned, 

Still  ripples  on  as  erst,  in  willful  wandering. 

Great,  sycamores  beyond  reach  far  their  stalwart  arms, 
And  make  a  cool  green  darkness  on  the  grass  beneath. 

Around,  a  flood  of  light — oh,  light  that  never  warms  ! 
Lies  like  a  halo  o'er  a  brow  still  fair  in  death. 

I  stand  upon  the  bridge  above  the  rippling  brook. 

Yonder  the  boat  lies  moored  beside  the  lakelet's  brink. 
I  cast  a  pebble  in  the  depths  below,  and  look 

Far  down  where  broken  moonbeams  seem  to  dive  and  sink. 

Earth's  brightest  gleams  are  only  shades  of  heaven's  light ; 

A  drop  may  type  the  sea — a  hill-top,  Sion's  crest ; 
And  angels  sing  from  day-dawn  through  the  starry  night, 

"Arise  ye  and  depart,  for  this  is  not  your  rest." 

The  Eden  curse  is  written  on  our  fairest  things  ; 

They  vanish  like  a  sunbeam  in  an  infant's  grasp. 

We  know  our  angels  when  we  see  their  fluttering  wings, 

And  feel  them  slipping  surely  from  our  human  clasp. 

131 


A  MEMORY. 


And  hearts  must  ache.     I  know  I  need  not  turn  to-night 
With  wistful  longings  toward  the  house  that  crowns  the  knoll. 

The  darkened  windows  show  no  gleam  of  inner  light : 
It  is  the  "  earthly  house,"  without  the  deathless  soul. 

And  yet  I  can  not  choose,  but  sadly  stand  and  watch, 
Though  vainly,  as  the  watcher  o'er  a  friend  that's  dead  ; 

As  if,  beguiled  by  vague,  unspoken  hope,  to  catch 
A  glimpse,  as  brief  as  precious,  of  the  spirit  fled. 

By  memory's  might  once  more  the  ruddy  fire-light  streams 
From  out  the  cheerful  windows  of  the  southward  room. 

But,  ah  !  to  be  so  sure  that  never  but  in  dreams 

That  sweet  home  fire-light  shall  disperse  the  twilight  gloom  ! 

Oh,  for  one  moment's  glimpse  of  unforgotten  years  ! 

And  yet  I  would  not  bring  the  dead  Past  back  again. 
Slowly  we  learn  to  suffer  without  many  tears, 

And  with  a  trustful  front  to  meet  the  passing  pain. 

A  smile  like  God's  own  peace  lies  over  all  to-night — 

A  holy  silence  that  should  make  earth's  sorrows  mute  : 

But  while  our  vanished  loved  ones  walk  in  cloudless  light 

Our  heart-strings  thrill  and  quiver  like  a  storm-swept  lute. 

132 


HOW  BENNY  GOT  HIS  DRUM, 

Ah,  desolate  Sweet  Home  !  most  precious  still  to  me 
For  memories  too  sacred  and  too  sad  to  die  ! 

God's  blessing  ever  rest  upon  our  old  roof-tree  ! 

And  holy  angels  guard  our  childhood's  home  for  aye  \ 


% 


HOW   BENNY    GOT    HIS    DRUM. 

Our  Benny  breathed  the  northern  air, 

While,  'neath  the  southern  sun, 
The  tide  of  war  still  ebbed  and  flowed, 

Before  sweet  peace  was  won. 
Full  bold  and  high  his  young  heart  beat 

With  thrill  of  patriot  life, 
Whene'er  he  heard  the  tramp  of  feet, 

The  sound  of  drum  and  fife  ; 
And,  to  his  boyish  heart,  the  sum 

Of  earthly  hope  and  joy 
Was  to  possess  a  drummer's  drum, 

Like  a  real  drummer-boy. 

But  then  'twould  cost  so  very  much, 

And  Benny  could  not  get 
i33 


zli±<± 


IF 


HOW  BENNY  GOT  HIS  DRUM. 

The  prize  for  many  a  month  or  year 

Unless  he  ran  in  debt. 
And  that  would  never,  never  do, 

For  Kitty  said,  "  Tis  best 
To  buy  what  we  can  pay  for,  Ben, 

And  go  without  the  rest." 

1  Yet,  Kitty  dear,  I  do  so  wish 

That  I  might  have  the  drum, 
Oh,  do  you  think  that  I  might  ask 

The  Lord  to  make  one  come 
To  me — a  drum  like  cousin  Hal's, 

So  big,  and  striped,  and  bright? 
I'd  like  to  ask  the  Lord  for  it, 

But  do  you  think  it's  right  ?  " 

Why,  Benny  dear,  you  know  we  are 

Too  poor,  now,  to  afford 
To  buy  a  drum  like  Hal's  for  you  ; 

But  then  we  know  the  Lord 

Can  send  you  one,  if  it  is  best, 

And  I  am  sure  He'll  hear 
i34 


HOW  BENNY  GOT  HIS  DRUM. 

You,  even  tho'  He  should  not  give 
The  thing  you  ask  for,  dear." 

When  out  of  school,  each  hour  the  boy 

Worked  in  the  little  store, 
Where  Kitty  struggled  hard  to  keep 

The  wolf  outside  their  door. 
And  yet  a  moment's  time  he  found 

At  noon  of  every  day 
To  go,  unknown  to  any  one, 

In  solitude  away 
And  ask  his  Father  in  the  skies 

To  send  to  him  the  drum  ; 
But,  though  he  waited  patiently, 

No  answer  seemed  to  come. 

At  last,  one  day  he  came,  and  said, 

With  quiet,  wistful  eyes  : 
"  Sister,  it  really  seems  to  me 

Our  Father  in  the  skies 

Must  see  it  would  be  bad  for  me 

Or  else  He  would  have  sent 
135 


'! 


i 


HOW  BENNY  GOT  HIS  DRUM. 

The  drum  I  asked  Him  for,  and  so, — 
And  so,  I  am  content." 

But  sister  Kitty's  heart  was  full, 

And  to  a  friend  one  day 
She  spoke  of  Benny's  faith  in  prayer, 

And  of  the  simple  way 
He  rested  in  God's  power  to  grant 

While  still  His  love  denied. 
The  neighbor  listened  silently, 

Then  suddenly  replied  : 
u  The  boy  shall  have  the  drum  he  wants 

This  very  afternoon. 
The  child  has  taught  me  how  to  pray, 

He'll  have  his  answer  soon  !  " 

With  merry  shout  Ben  came  from  school, 

And  at  the  open  door 
His  sister  said  :  "  Ben,  look  behind 

The  counter  in  the  store  !  " 

'Twas  really  there,  the  wished-for  drum  ! 

"  It's  from  the  Lord  !  "  he  said, 
136 


HOW  BENNY  GOT  HIS  DRUM. 

And  clasping  it,  with  grateful  joy 

He  bowed  his  curly  head. 
Then  seized  the  drum  and  measured  it ; 

And  wondering  Kitty  heard  : 
"  It's  like  Him— it  is  just  like  Him  !  " 

"  Oh,  Benny,  what  a  word  ! 
What  do  you  mean  to  say,  dear  Ben  ?  " 

"  Why,  sister  dear,  I  prayed 
The  Lord  to  send  a  smaller  drum, 

Because  I  was  afraid 
To  ask  for  one  as  big  as  this  ; 

But  this  is  just  the  kind, 
The  very  kind  and  size,  you  know, 

I  wished  for  in  my  mind  ! 
And  don't  you  think  the  Lord  was  good,' 

Said  Benny,  with  a  smile, 
"  To  give  me  what  I  did  not  ask, 

But  wanted  all  the  while  ?  " 


K£ 


'  J 


137 


4+m. 


ALLEX  GRAEME. 

ALLEN     GRAEME. 

In  the  gloaming,  doun  the  brae, 
In  the  bonnie  sweet  May  weather,. 

I  was  strollin',  but  my  heart 
Dowie  was  as  winter  heather. 

An'  for  that  I  was  na  blithe, 

I  was  singin'  sic  a  sang 
To  mysel',  that  Allen  Graeme 

Stoppit,  as  he  cam'  alang. 

Never  footfa'  on  the  moss 
Was  sae  licht  an'  yet  sae  free, 

For  I  did  na  hear  him,  till 

Doun  he  bent,  an'  spak'  to  me. 

"  Dinna  flyte  me,  Jeanie,  lass  !  " 
Said  he,  wi'  his  laughin'  e'en, 
While  he  sudden  caught  my  cheeks, 
Lichtly  his  twa  han's  atween. 

Sic  a  laddie  as  he  was  ! 

Tho'  I  couldna  cry  nor  speak, 

138 


ALLEN  GRAEME. 

Up  I  sprang,  an'  wi'  my  han', 
Slappit  fairly  on  his  cheek. 

"  Oh,  my  cheekie  !  "  laughit  he, 

"  Jeanie,  sure  ye've  spraint  your  wrist! 
Ilka  bairn  wha  gies  ae  blow, 

Willy — nilly,  maun — be  kissed  !  " 

A'  my  face  was  red  wi'  shame, 
But,  ah,  me  !  he  was  sae  Strang 

THat  I  couldna  stir  a  feut, 

Till  he  cried,  "  An'  noo  the  sang, 

Jeanie,  ye  were  singin'  sweet, 
When  this  wicked  riever  came  [ " 

Quick  as  thocht,  I  sprang  awa* 
Frae  his  side,  an'  rin  for  hame. 

Mickle  gude  it  was  in  truth  ! 

For  he  turned  like  flash  o'  e'en, 

Caught  my  han's  in  his  an'  cried, 

"  Stirling's  castle,  bonnie  queen, 
139 


*A 


K 


ALLEN  GRAEME. 

u  Has  nae  tower  Strang  eneuch 
For  sic  rin-a-wa's  as  this. 
Gin  ye  dinna  bide  in  peace, 

Mind  !  ye'll  lose  anither  kiss  !  " 

"  Ne'er  was  hapless  Stuart  queen 
In  sic  tyrant's  han's  !  "   I  cried. 

"  If  ye  canna  thole  my  han's, 

In  my  heart,  oh,  Jeanie,  bide  !  " 

Lookin'  doun  upo'  his  han's, 
Like  a  witless  bairn  I  stude, 

Mindin'  o'  the  winter  nicht 
When  the  cottage  i'  the  wude, 

(Whaur  her  lane,  auld  Peggy  leeved), 
A'  was  wrapt  in  smoke  an'  flame, 

An*  nane  ither  daured  to  brave 
Death  for  her,  save  Allen  Graeme. 

M  Ha'e  ye  wives  an'  mithers,  men, 

An'  ye'll  let  yon  woman  dee  ?  " 

Cried  he,  when  thro'  blindin'  smoke, 

Flames  an'  darkness  dashit  he. 
140 


ALLEN  GRAEME. 

Wun'nerin'  stude  the  neebor  folk, 
Till,  frae  oot  the  reek  an'  flame, 

Wi'  auld  Peggy  in  his  arms, 

Back  frae  death  came  Allen  Graeme. 

Brawest  sodgers  bring  awa' 

Cross  o'  Honor  frae  the  waurs, 

Sae  did  Allen  bear  for  aye 

On  his  brow  an'  han's  the  scaurs 

Frae  yon  cruel,  leapin'  flames, 
Frae  yon  steady  awfu'  heat. — 

Mindin'  o'  it  a',  I  stude, 

Till  I  maist  was  like  to  greet. 

Silent  i'  the  gloamin'  licht, 

Stude  we  baith,  nor  spak'  ae  word, 
Till  he  said,  "  Oh,  mak'  your  bield 

In  my  heart,  my  bonnie  bird  ! 

Jeanie,  will  ye  ?  "  said  he  low, 

Wi'  his  e'en  bent  fu'  on  me. 

:  Bide  for  aye — or  gang  the  noo — 

Bonnie  birdie,  ye  are  free  !  " 
141 


^4 


I 


OUR  OLD  PIANO. 

Wilfu'  wean,  I  turned  to  gae, 
Tho'  I  hived  him  mair  than  a'. 

Low  said  Allen,  "  Jeanie  mine  ?  " 
An'  I — didna  gang  awa'. 


OUR     OLD     PIANO. 

Don't  say  it's  foolish,  for  the  tears  will  come  ! 

It  is  not  soulless  wood  and  ivory  I  see  : 
From  out  the  voiceful  past,  dear  lips  now  dumb 

Through  every  note  and  chord  are  calling  unto  me. 

Upon  its  music  come  to  me  again 

My  mother's  gentle  voice,  her  touch  upon  my  hair  ; 
The  fire-light  dances  on  the  walls,  as  when 

We  watched  it,  building  children's  castles  in  the  air. 

The  laughing  joy  of  spring-time  thrills  the  notes, 

And  gathered  wild  flowers  breathe  their  life  out  on  the  keys. 

The  wailing  wind  of  autumn  o'er  it  floats, 

And  shakes  the  falling  glory  from  the  golden  trees. 

142 


71 


OUR  OLD  PIANO. 

In  summer  days  once  more  the  southward  room 
Is  sweet  and  cool  with  dewy,  dainty  mignonette  ; 

White  locust  blossoms  shed  their  flakes  of  bloom 
On  dauntless  purpling  pansy,  and  meek  violet. 

Through  sleepy  noons  I  hear  the  hum  of  bees, 

And  in  the  deepening  silence  sings  the  brook  below  ; 

The  day  wears  on,  and  beautiful  old  trees 

Stand  all  transfigured  in  the  dying  sunset  glow. 

And  in  the  twilight,  when  the  glow  is  gone, 

Once  more,  in  dreams,  I  sing  my  heart's  song  unto  you  ; 
High  hopes,  brave  struggles,  victories  lost  and  won, 

And  longings  ever  rising,  as  the  music  grew. 

Oh,  dear  old  friend  of  childhood,  could  my  touch 
Upon  your  keys  bring  back,  one  moment,  to  my  heart 

The  deep  content  of  home  I  loved  so  much  ! 

But  memory  can  not  cheat,  and  only  tears  will  start. 

For  it  is  hard  to  leave  you,  hard  to  know 

That  careless  children's  hands  will  ramble  o'er  the  keys, 

i43 


"THE    W A- GANG  O'HER   THE  HEART  GANGS   Wl*" 

Will  crash  the  chords  we  loved  to  strike  so  low, 

That  breathless  we  must  catch  the  last,  faint  harmonies. 

Oh,  little  hand  !   I  pray  you  softly  touch, 

And  wake  the  far-off  echoes  of  our  childhood's  years  ; 
And  may  the  faithful  friend  we  loved  so  much, 

Make  gladder  all  your  laughter,  and  beguile  your  tears  ! 


"THE  WA-GANG  O'   HER   THE   HEART  GANGS   WI'.* 

(old  scotch  song.) 

Oh,  blessed  City  o'  my  God,  sweet  Hame  beyond  the  stars, 
A  caged  bird  my  spirit  beats  her  wings  against  these  bars, 
For  luve  o'  thee,  an'  langing  sair  His  glorious  Face  to  see. 
Wha  hung  for  us  on  Cross  o'  shame,  in  darkness  and  in  dree. 
Wi'in  yon  walls  o'  shinin'  strength,  oh,  may  I  enter  sune, 
But  I  maun  leave  this  side  the  gates  my  pilgrim  staff  an* 

shoon. 
Dear  fr'en's  wha  luve  me,  dinna  weep,  why  suld  your  grief  be 

sair, 

That  ane  wha  wrought  ae  little  hour  shall  rest  for  evermair  ! 

144 


N^ 


"  THE  WA-GANG  0'  HER   THE  HEART  GANGS  WI\" 

An'  noo,  I'm  ganging  Hame,  mine  ain,  mine  ain,  luved  well 

and  lang, 
I  thocht  na  that  ae  human  thing  could  be  sae  passing  Strang, 
But,  oh,  it  is  na  earthly  luve,  but  spirit  luve  an'  true, 
That  winna,  winna  loose  the  cord  whilk  houds  my  heart  to 

you. 
"Whom  God  hath  joined,"  the  Master  saith,  "let  man  nae 

put  apart  !  " 
Nae  floods  nor  flames,  nae  life  nor  death  maun  sunder  heart 

frae  heart. 
Oh,  Heaven  is  na  far  awa'  frae  earth  and  human  things, 
For  whiles.  I've  thocht  I  maist  could  hear  the  rush  o'  angel's 

wings. 
An'  when  my  heart  beat  close  to  yours,  my  Ither  Heart,  my 

Luve, 
I  prayed  we  twa  might  enter  sae  the  bonnie  Land  abuve. 
But  God  aye  kens  the  best  for  us  !     I  didna  think  to  gae, 
An'  leave  ye  lanesame,  Dearest  Heart,  but  He  has  willed  it  sae. 
Ye  are  the  brawest  o'  the  twa,  ye'll  have  the  Jangest  strife, 
While  I  hae  weary  grown  wi'  a'  the  march  an'  fecht  o'  life. 
Ye'll  hae  the  brightest  croun,  my  Luve,  when  Jesus  ca's  your 

name, 

An'  sen's  His  bright  wing'd  angels  doun  to  bear  ye  to  our 

Hame  ! 

145 


&A 


"  THE  WA-GANG  0'  HER  THE  HEART  GANGS  WI\" 

Oh,  dinna  greet !  ye'll  break  my  heart.     I  canna  lang  to  gae, 
E'en  when  my  Savior's  ca'ing  me,  if  ye  will  sorrow  sae. 
Oh,  mind  ye,  we  maun  keep  our  troth  wi'  ilk  aue,  an'  wi'  God  ; 
We  twa  ha'e  vowed  to  bear  His  Cross,  to  clasp  the  Shepherd's 

rod. 
We  maunna,  maunna  grieve  His  Heart,  altho'  our  strength  be 

sma', 
He's  plighted  His  sure  word  o'  truth,  He  winna  let  us  fa'  ! 

It  is  nae  dream,  nae  vision  fause,  yon  bonnie  Land  I  see  ! 
Lift  up  your  heads,  oh,  gates  o'  pearl,  an'  open  unto  me  ; — 
To  me — to  me,  a  sinner  saved  by  Jesus'  righteousness  ! 
Oh,  yon  bright  angel  wad  be  fain  to  wear  my  glorious  dress, 
Dyed  a'  wi'  royal  crimson,  an'  yet  fairer  than  the  sna', 
It  wraps  my  earthly  weakness  up,  an'  sin  is  ta'en  awa'! 
Oh,  happy  heart  that  wins,  sae  sune,  yon  shinin'  gates  wi'in  ! 
Oh,  blessed  heart  that's  left  to  fight  God's  battle  still  wi'  sin  ! 
Noo  kiss  me  aince  before  I  sleep,  and  lay  me  doun  to  rest ! 
Dear  Luve,  gude  nicht !     Ae  moment,  an'  111  wake  on  Jesus' 
breast ! 


146 


